PAIR  OF  PATIENT  LOVERS 


BY 


W.    D.    HOWELLS 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  LANDLORD  AT  LION'S  HEAD" 
"  RAGGED   LADY "    ETC. 


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HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1901,  by  WILLIAM  DEAN  HOWBLW. 


PRrNTED     IN     THE    UNITED     STATES'  OF    AMERICA 
E--0- 


V/JT 


CONTENTS 


A  PAIR  OF  PATIENT  LOVERS 1 

THE  PURSUIT  OP  THE  PIANO .    .  79 

A  DIFFICULT  CASE 145 

THE  MAGIC  OF  A  VOICE 221 

A  CIRCLE  IN  THE  WATER    .    .    .    ,  285 


A  PAIR  OF  PATIENT  LOVERS. 


WE  first  met  Glendenning  on  the  Canadian  boat 
which  carries  you  down  the  rapids  of  the  St.  Law 
rence  from  Kingston  and  leaves  you  at  Montreal. 
When  we  saw  a  handsome  young  clergyman  across 
the  promenade-deck  looking  up  from  his  guide-book 
toward  us,  now  and  again,  as  if  in  default  of  knowing 
any  one  else  he  would  be  very  willing  to  know  us,  we 
decided  that  I  must  make  his  acquaintance.  He  was 
instantly  and  cordially  responsive  to  my  question 
whether  he  had  ever  made  the  trip  before,  and  he  was 
amiably  grateful  when  in  my  quality  of  old  habitue  of 
the  route  I  pointed  out  some  characteristic  features 
of  the  scenery.  I  showed  him  just  where  we  were  on 
the  long  map  of  the  river  hanging  over  his  knee,  and 
I  added,  with  no  great  relevancy,  that  my  wife  and  I 
were  renewing  the  fond  emotion  of  our  first  trip  down 
A 


2  A    VAIE    Off   PATIENT    LOVERS. 

the  St.  Lawrence  in  the  character  of  bridal  pair  which 
we  had  spurned  when  it  was  really  ours.  I  explained 
that  we  had  left  the  children  with  my  wife's  aunt,  so 
as  to  render  the  travesty  more  lifelike ;  and  when  he 
said,  "  I  suppose  you  miss  them,  though,"  I  gave  him 
my  card.  He  tried  to  find  one  of  his  own  to  give  me 
in  return,  but  he  could  only  find  a  lot  of  other  peo 
ple's  cards.  He  wrote  his  name  on  the  back  of  one, 
and  handed  it  to  me  with  a  smile.  "  It  won't  do  for 
me  to  put  'reverend7  before  it,  in  my  own  chirogra- 
phy,  but  that's  the  way  I  have  it  engraved." 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  "  the  cut  of  your  coat  betrayed  you," 
and  we  had  some  laughing  talk.  But  I  felt  the  eye 
of  Mrs.  March  dwelling  upon  me  with  growing  impa 
tience,  till  I  suggested,  "  I  should  like  to  make  you 
acquainted  with  my  wife,  Mr.  Glendenning." 

He  said,  Oh,  he  should  be  so  happy ;  and  he  gath 
ered  his  dangling  map  into  the  book  and  came  over 
with  me  to  where  Mrs.  March  sat;  and,  like  the  good 
young  American  husband  T  was  in  those  days,  I  stood 
aside  and  left  the  whole  talk  to  her.  She  interested 
him  so  much  more  than  I  could  that  I  presently  wan 
dered  away  and  amused  myself  elsewhere.  When  I 
came  back,  she  clutched  my  arm  and  bade  me  not 
speak  a  word ;  it  was  the  most  romantic  thing  in  the 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS.  3 

world,  and  she  would  tell  me  about  it  when  we  were 
alone,  but  now  I  must  go  off  again ;  he  had  just  gone 
to  get  a  book  for  her  which  he  had  been  speaking  of, 
and  would  be  back  the  next  instant,  and  it  would  not 
do  to  let  him  suppose  we  had  been  discussing  him. 


H. 

I  WAS  sometimes  disappointed  in  Mrs.  March's 
mysteries  when  I  came  up  close  to  them ;  but  I  was 
always  willing  to  take  them  on  trust ;  and  I  submitted 
to  the  postponement  of  a  solution  in  this  case  with 
more  than  my  usual  faith.  She  found  time,  before 
Mr.  Glendenning  reappeared,  to  ask  me  if  I  had  no 
ticed  a  mother  and  daughter  on  the  boat,  the  mother 
evidently  an  invalid,  and  the  daughter  very  devoted, 
and  both  decidedly  ladies;  and  when  I  said,  "No. 
Why?"  she  answered,  "Oh,  nothing,"  and  that  she 
would  tell  me.  Then  she  drove  me  away,  and  we  did 
not  meet  till  I  found  her  in  our  state-room  just  before 
the  terrible  mid-day  meal  they  used  to  give  you  on 
the  Corinthian,  and  called  dinner. 

She  began  at  once,  while  she  did  something  to  her 
hair  before  the  morsel  of  mirror :  "  Why  I  wanted  to 
know  if  you  had  noticed  those  people  was  because 
they  are  the  reason  of  his  being  here." 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT    LOVERS.  5 

"Did  he  tell  you  that?" 

"  Of  course  not.  But  I  knew  it,  for  he  asked  if  I 
had  seen  them,  or  could  tell  him  who  they  were.7' 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  he  made  pretty  good  time  to 
get  so  far  as  that." 

"  I  don't  say  he  got  so  far  himself,  but  you  men 
never  know  how  to  take  steps  for  any  one  else.  You 
can't  put  two  and  two  together.  But  to  my  mind  it's 
as  plain  as  the  nose  on  his  face  that  he's  seen  that 
girl  somewhere  and  is  taking  this  trip  because  she's 
on  board.  He  said  he  hadn't  decided  to  come  till  the 
last  moment." 

"  What  wild  leaps  of  fancy ! "  I  said.  "  But  the 
nose  on  his  face  is  handsome  rather  than  plain,  and  I 
sha'n't  be  satisfied  till  I  see  him  with  the  lady." 

"  Yes,  he's  quite  Greek,"  said  Mrs.  March,  in  assent 
to  my  opinion  of  his  nose.  "  Too  Greek  for  a  clergy 
man,  almost.  But  he  isn't  vain  of  it.  Those  beautiful 
people  are  often  quite  modest,  and  Mr.  Glendenning 
is  very  modest." 

"  And  I'm  very  hungry.  If  you  don't  hurry  your 
prinking,  Isabel,  we  shall  not  get  any  dinner." 

"  I'm  ready,"  said  my  wife,  and  she  continued  with 
her  eyes  still  on  the  glass :  "  He's  got  a  church  out  in 
Ohio,  somewhere ;  but  he's  a  New-Englander,  and  he's 


6  A   PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS. 

quite  wild  to  get  back.  He  thinks  those  people  are 
from  Boston :  I  could  tell  in  a  moment  if  I  saw  them. 
Well,  now,  I  am  ready,"  and  with  this  she  really 
ceased  to  do  something  to  her  hair,  and  came  out  into 
the  long  saloon  with  me  where  the  table  was  set. 
Rows  of  passengers  stood  behind  the  rows  of  chairs, 
with  a  detaining  grasp  on  nearly  all  of  them.  We 
gazed  up  and  down  in  despair.  Suddenly  Mrs.  March 
sped  forward,  and  I  found  that  Mr.  Glendenning  had 
made  a  sign  to  her  from  a  distant  point,  where  there 
were  two  vacant  chairs  for  us  next  his  own.  We 
eagerly  laid  hands  on  them,  and  waited  for  the  gong 
to  sound  for  dinner.  In  this  interval  an  elderly  lady 
followed  by  a  young  girl  came  down  the  saloon  toward 
us,  and  I  saw  signs,  or  rather  emotions,  of  intelligence 
pass  between  Mr.  Glendenning  and  Mrs.  March  con 
cerning  them. 

The  older  of  these  ladies  was  a  tall,  handsome  ma 
tron,  who  bore  her  fifty  years  with  a  native  severity 
qualified  by  a  certain  air  of  wonder  at  a  world  which 
I  could  well  fancy  had  not  always  taken  her  at  her 
own  estimate  of  her  personal  and  social  importance. 
She  had  the  effect  of  challenging  you  to  do  less,  as 
she  advanced  slowly  between  the  wall  of  state-rooms 
and  the  backs  of  the  people  gripping  their  chairs,  and 


A   PAIR    OF   PATIENT    LOVERS.  7 

eyed  them  with  a  sort  of  imperious  surprise  that  they 
should  have  left  no  place  for  her.  So  at  least  I  read 
her  glance,  while  I  read  in  that  of  the  young  lady 
coming  after,  and  showing  her  beauty  first  over  this 
shoulder  and  then  over  that  of  her  mother,  chiefly  a 
present  amusement,  behind  which  lay  a  character  of 
perhaps  equal  pride,  if  not  equal  hardness.  She  was 
very  beautiful,  in  the  dark  style  which  I  cannot  help 
thinking  has  fallen  into  unmerited  abeyance;  and  as 
she  passed  us  I  could  see  that  she  was  very  graceful. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  lady's  acceptance  of  the  fashions 
of  that  day,  which  would  be  thought  so  grotesque  in 
this.  I  have  heard  contemporaneous  young  girls 
laugh  at  the  mere  notion  of  hoops,  but  in  1870  we 
thought  hoops  extremely  becoming;  and  this  young 
lady  knew  how  to  hold  hers  a  little  on  one  side  so  as 
to  give  herself  room  in  the  narrow  avenue,  and  not 
betray  more  than  the  discreetest  hint  of  a  white  stock 
ing.  I  believe  the  stockings  are  black  now. 

They  both  got  by  us,  and  I  could  see  Mr.  Glenden- 
ning  following  them  with  longing  but  irresolute  eyes, 
until  they  turned,  a  long  way  down  the  saloon,  as  if 
to  come  toward  us  again.  Then  he  hurried  to  meet 
them,  and  as  he  addressed  himself  first  to  one  and 
then  to  the  other,  I  knew  him  to  be  offering  them  his 


8  A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT    LOVERS. 

chair.  So  did  my  wife,  and  she  said,  "  You  must 
give  up  your  place  too,  Basil,"  and  I  said  I  would  if 
she  wished  to  see  me  starve  on  the  spot.  But  of 
course  I  went  and  joined  Glendenning  in  his  entreaties 
that  they  would  deprive  us  of  our  chances  of  dinner 
(I  knew  what  the  second  table  was  on  the  Corinthian) ; 
and  I  must  say  that  the  elder  lady  accepted  my  chair 
in  the  spirit  which  my  secret  grudge  deserved.  She 
made  me  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  have  offered  it  when 
they  first  passed  us ;  but  it  was  some  satisfaction  to 
learn  afterwards  that  she  gave  Mrs.  March,  for  her 
ready  sacrifice  of  me,  as  bad  a  half-hour  as  she  ever 
had.  She  sat  next  to  my  wife,  and  the  young  lady 
took  Glendenning's  place,  and  as  soon  as  we  had  left 
them  she  began  trying  to  find  out  from  Mrs.  March 
who  he  was,  and  what  his  relation  to  us  was.  The 
girl  tried  to  check  her  at  first,  and  then  seemed  to 
give  it  up,  and  devoted  herself  to  being  rather  more 
amiable  than  she  otherwise  might  have  been,  my  wife 
thought,  in  compensation  for  the  severity  of  her  moth 
er's  scrutiny.  Her  mother  appeared  disposed  to  hold 
Mrs.  March  responsible  for  knowing  little  or  nothing 
about  Mr.  Glendenning. 

"  He  seems  to  be  an  Episcopal  clergyman,"  she  said, 
in  a  haughty  summing  up.     "  From  his  name  I  should 


A    PAIR   OF    PATIENT    LOVERS.  9 

have  supposed  he  was  Scotch  and  a  Presbyterian." 
She  began  to  patronize  the  trip  we  were  making,  and 
to  abuse  it ;  she  said  that  she  did  not  see  what  could 
have  induced  them  to  undertake  it ;  but  one  had  to 
get  back  from  Niagara  somehow,  and  they  had  been 
told  at  the  hotel  there  that  the  boats  were  very  com 
fortable.  She  had  never  been  more  uncomfortable  in 
her  life  ;  as  for  the  rapids,  they  made  her  ill,  and  they 
were  obviously  so  dangerous  that  she  should  not  even 
look  at  them  again.  Then,  from  having  done  all  the 
talking  and  most  of  the  eating,  she  fell  quite  silent, 
and  gave  her  daughter  a  chance  to  speak  to  my  wife. 
She  had  hitherto  spoken  only  to  her  mother,  but  now 
she  asked  Mrs,  March  if  she  had  ever  been  down  the 
St.  Lawrence  before. 

When  my  wife  explained,  and  asked  her  whether 
she  was  enjoying  it,  she  answered  with  a  rapture  that 
was  quite  astonishing,  in  reference  to  her  mother's 
expressions  of  disgust :  "  Oh,  immensely  !  Every  in 
stant  of  it,"  and  she  went  on  to  expatiate  on  its  pecul 
iar  charm  in  terms  so  intelligent  and  sympathetic  that 
Mrs.  March  confessed  it  had  been  part  of  our  wedding 
journey,  and  that  this  was  the  reason  why  we  were 
now  taking  the  trip. 

The  young  lady  did  not  seem  to  care  so  much  for 


10  A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS. 

this,  and  when  she  thanked  my  wife  in  leaving  the 
table  with  her  mother,  and  begged  her  to  thank  the 
gentlemen  who  had  so  kindly  given  up  their  places, 
she  made  no  overture  to  further  acquaintance.  In 
fact,  we  had  been  so  simply  and  merely  made  use  of 
that,  although  we  were  rather  meek  people,  we  decided 
to  avoid  our  beneficiaries  for  the  rest  of  the  day ;  and 
Mr.  Glendenning,  who  could  not,  as  a  clergyman,  in 
dulge  even  a  just  resentment,  could  as  little  refuse  us 
his  sympathy.  He  laughed  at  some  hints  of  my 
wife's  experience,  which  she  dropped  before  she  left 
us  to  pick  up  a  meal  from  the  lukewarm  leavings  of 
the  Corinthian's  dinner,  if  we  could.  She  said  she 
was  going  forward  to  get  a  good  place  on  the  bow, 
and  would  keep  two  camp-stools  for  us,  which  she 
could  assure  us  no  one  would  get  away  from  her. 

We  were  somewhat  surprised  then  to  find  her  seated 
by  the  rail  with  the  younger  lady  of  the  two  whom 
she  meant  to  avoid  if  she  meant  anything  by  what  she 
said.  She  was  laughing  and  talking  on  quite  easy 
terms  with  her  apparently,  and  "  There  !  "  she  tri 
umphed  as  we  came  up,  "  I've  kept  your  camp-stools 
for  you,"  and  she  showed  them  at  her  side,  where  she 
was  holding  her  hand  on  them.  "  You  had  better  put 
them  here." 


A    PAIR   OF   PATIENT    LOVERS.  11 

The  girl  had  stiffened  a  little  at  our  approach,  as  I 
could  see,  but  a  young  girl's  stiffness  is  always  rather 
amusing  than  otherwise,  and  I  did  not  mind  it.  Nei 
ther,  that  I  could  see,  did  Mr.  Glendenning,  and  it 
soon  passed.  It  seemed  that  she  had  left  her  mother 
lying  down  in  her  state-room,  where  she  justly  imag 
ined  that  if  she  did  not  see  the  rapids  she  should 
suffer  less  alarm  from  them ;  the  young  lady  had  come 
frankly  to  the  side  of  Mrs.  March  as  soon  as  she  saw 
her,  and  asked  if  she  might  sit  with  her.  She  now 
talked  to  me  for  a  decent  space  of  time,  and  then 
presently,  without  my  knowing  how,  she  was  talking 
to  Mr.  Glendenning,  and  they  were  comparing  notes 
of  Niagara ;  he  was  saying  that  he  thought  he  had 
seen  her  at  the  Cataract  House,  and  she  was  owning 
that  she  and  her  mother  had  at  least  stopped  at  that 
hotel. 


III. 

I  HAVE  no  wish,  and  if  I  had  the  wish  I  should  not 
have  the  art,  to  keep  back  the  fact  that  these  young 
people  were  evidently  very  much  taken  with  each  oth 
er.  They  showed  their  mutual  pleasure  so  plainly 
that  even  I  could  see  it.  As  for  Mrs.  March,  she  was 
as  proud  of  it  as  if  she  had  invented  them  and  set 
them  going  in  their  advance  toward  each  other,  like 
two  mechanical  toys. 

I  confess  that  with  reference  to  what  my  wife  had 
told  me  of  this  young  lady's  behavior  when  she  was 
with  her  mother,  her  submissiveness,  her  entire  self- 
effacement,  up  to  a  certain  point,  I  did  not  know  quite 
what  to  make  of  her  present  independence,  not  to  say 
freedom.  I  thought  she  might  perhaps  have  been 
kept  so  strictly  in  the  background,  with  young  men, 
that  she  was  rather  disposed  to  make  the  most  of  any 
chance  at  them  which  offered.  If  the  young  man  in 
this  case  was  at  no  pains  to  hide  his  pleasure  in  her 


A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS.  13 

society,  one  might  say  that  she  was  almost  eager  to 
show  her  delight  in  his.  If  it  was  a  case  of  love  at 
first  sight,  the  earliest  glimpse  had  been  to  the  girl, 
who  was  all  eyes  for  Glendenning.  It  was  very  pretty, 
but  it  was  a  little  alarming,  and  perhaps  a  little  droll, 
even.  She  was  actually  making  the  advances,  not 
consciously,  but  helplessly ;  fondly,  ignorantly,  for  I 
have  no  belief,  nor  had  my  wife  (a  much  more  critical 
observer),  that  she  knew  how  she  was  giving  herself 
away. 

I  thought  perhaps  that  she  was  in  the  habit  from 
pride,  or  something  like  it,  of  holding  herself  in 
check,  and  that  this  blameless  excess  which  I  saw  was 
the  natural  expansion  from  an  inner  constraint.  But 
what  I  really  knew  was  that  the  young  people  got  on 
very  rapidly,  in  an  acquaintance  that  prospered  up  to 
the  last  moment  I  saw  them  together.  This  was  just 
before  the  Corinthian  drew  up  to  her  landing  at  Mon 
treal,  when  Miss  Bentley  (we  had  learned  her  name) 
came  to  us  from  the  point  where  she  was  standing 
with  Glendenning  and  said  that  now  she  must  go  to 
her  mother,  and  took  a  sweet  leave  of  my  wife.  She 
asked  where  we  were  going  to  stay  in  Montreal  and 
whether  we  were  going  on  to  Quebec ;  and  said  her 
mother  would  wish  to  send  Mrs.  March  her  card. 


14  A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS. 

When  she  was  gone,  Glendenning  explained,  with 
rather  superfluous  apology,  that  he  had  offered  to  see 
the  ladies  to  a  hotel,  for  he  was  afraid  that  at  this 
crowded  season  they  might  not  find  it  easy  to  get 
rooms,  and  he  did  not  wish  Mrs.  Bentley,  who  was  an 
invalid,  to  have  any  anxieties  about  it.  He  bade  us 
an  affectionate,  but  not  a  disconsolate  adieu,  and  when 
we  had  got  into  the  modest  conveyance  (if  an  omni 
bus  is  modest)  which  was  to  take  us  to  the  Ottawa 
House,  we  saw  him  drive  off  to  the  St.  Lawrence  Hall 
(it  was  twenty-five  years  ago)  in  one  of  those  vitreous 
and  tinkling  Montreal  landaus,  with  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Bentley  and  Mrs.  Bentley's  maid. 

We  were  still  so  young  as  to  be  very  much  absorbed 
in  the  love  affairs  of  other  people ;  I  believe  women 
always  remain  young  enough  for  that ;  and  Mrs.  March 
talked  about  the  one  we  fancied  we  had  witnessed  the 
beginning  of  pretty  much  the  whole  evening.  The 
next  morning  we  got  letters  from  Boston,  telling  us 
how  the  children  were  and  all  that  they  were  doing 
and  saying.  We  had  stood  it  very  well,  as  long  as 
we  did  not  hear  anything  about  them,  and  we  had  lent 
ourselves  in  a  sort  of  semi-forgetfulness  of  them  to 
the  associations  of  the  past  when  they  were  not ;  but 
now  to  learn  that  thev  were  hearty  and  happy,  and 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT    LOVERS.  15 

that  cney  sent  love  and  kisses,  was  too  much.  With 
one  mind  we  renounced  the  notion  of  going  on  to 
Quebec ;  we  found  that  we  could  just  get  the  ten- 
o'clock  train  that  would  reach  Boston  by  eleven  that 
night,  and  we  made  all  haste  and  got  it.  We  had  not 
been  really  at  peace,  we  Berceived,  till  that  moment 
since  we  had  bidden  the  children  good-bye. 


PERHAPS  it  was  because  we  left  Montreal  so  abrupt 
ly  that  Mrs.  March  never  received  Mrs.  Bentley's  card. 
It  may  be  at  the  Ottawa  House  to  this  day,  for  all  I 
know.  What  is  certain  is  that  we  saw  and  heard 
nothing  more  of  her  or  her  daughter.  Glendenning 
called  to  see  us  as  he  passed  through  Boston  on  his 
way  west  from  Quebec,  but  we  were  neither  of  us  at 
home  and  we  missed  him,  to  my  wife's  vivid  regret. 
I  rather  think  we  expected  him  to  find  some  excuse 
for  writing  after  he  reached  his  place  in  northern 
Ohio  ;  but  he  did  not  write,  and  he  became  more  and 
more  the  memory  of  a  young  clergyman  in  the  begin 
ning  of  a  love-affair,  till  one  summer,  while  we  were 
still  disputing  where  we  should  spend  the  hot  weather 
within  business  reach,  there  came  a  letter  from  him 
saying  that  he  was  settled  at  Gormanville,  and  wishing 
that  he  might  tempt  us  up  some  afternoon  before  we 
were  off  to  the  mountains  or  seaside.  This  revived 


A   PAIR   OF    PATIENT    LOVERS.  17 

all  my  wife's  waning  interest  in  him,  and  it  was  hard 
to  keep  the  answer  I  made  him  from  expressing  in  a 
series  of  crucial  inquiries  the  excitement  she  felt  at 
his  being  in  New  England  and  so  near  Boston,  and  in 
Gormanville  of  all  places.  It  was  one  of  the  places 
we  had  thought  of  for  the  summer,  and  we  were  yet 
so  far  from  having  relinquished  it  that  we  were  re 
curring  from  time  to  time  in  hope  and  fear  to  the 
advertisement  of  an  old  village  mansion  there,  with 
ample  grounds,  garden,  orchard,  ice-house,  and  stables, 
for  a  very  low  rental  to  an  unexceptionable  tenant. 
We  had  no  doubt  of  our  own  qualifications,  but  we 
had  misgivings  of  the  village  mansion  ;  and  I  am  afraid 
that  I  rather  unduly  despatched  the  personal  part  of 
my  letter,  in  my  haste  to  ask  what  Glendenning  knew 
and  what  he  thought  of  the  Conwell  place.  However, 
the  letter  seemed  to  serve  all  purposes.  There  came  a 
reply  from  Glendenning,  most  cordial,  even  affection 
ate,  saying  that  the  Conwell  place  was  delightful,  and 
I  must  come  at  once  and  see  it.  He  professed  that 
he  would  be  glad  to  have  Mrs.  March  come  too,  and 
he  declared  that  if  his  joy  at  having  us  did  not  fill  his 
modest  rectory  to  bursting,  he  was  sure  it  could  stand 
the  physical  strain  of  our  presence,  though  he  con 
fessed  that  his  guest-chamber  was  tiny. 
B 


18  A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS. 

"  He  wants  you,  Basil,"  my  wife  divined  from  terms 
which  gave  me  no  sense  of  any  latent  design  of  part 
ing  us  in  his  hospitality.  "  But,  evidently,  it  isn't  a 
chance  to  be  missed,  and  you  must  go  —  instantly. 
Can  you  go  to-morrow?  But  telegraph  him  you're 
coming,  and  tell  him  to  hold  on  to  the  Conwell  place ; 
it  may  be  snapped  up  any  moment  if  it's  so  desirable." 

I  did  not  go  till  the  following  week,  when  I  found 
that  no  one  had  attempted  to  snap  up  the  Conwell 
place.  In  fact,  it  rather  snapped  me  up,  I  secured  it 
with  so  little  trouble.  I  reported  it  so  perfect  that 
all  my  wife's  fears  of  a  latent  objection  to  it  were 
roused  again.  But  when  I  said  I  thought  we  could 
relinquish  it,  her  terrors  subsided ;  and  I  thought  this 
the  right  moment  to  deliver  a  stroke  that  I  had  been 
holding  in  reserve. 

"  You  know,"  I  began,  "  the  Bentleys  have  theii 
summer  place  there — the  old  Bentley  homestead.  It' a 
their  ancestral  town,  you  know." 

"Bentleys?  What  Bentleys?"  she  demanded, 
opaquely. 

"  Why,  those  people  we  met  on  the  Corinthian^ 
summer  before  last — you  thought  he  was  in  love  with 
the  girl — " 

A  simultaneous  photograph  could  alone  reproduce 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT    LOVERS.  19 

Mrs.  March's  tumultuous  and  various  emotions  as  she 
seized  the  fact  conveyed  in  my  words.  She  poured 
out  a  volume  of  mingled  conjectures,  assertions,  sus 
picions,  conclusions,  in  which  there  was  nothing  final 
but  the  decision  that  we  must  not  dream  of  going 
there ;  that  it  would  look  like  thrusting  ourselves  in, 
and  would  be  in  the  worst  sort  of  taste  ;  they  would 
all  hate  us,  and  we  should  feel  that  we  were  spies 
upon  the  young  people;  for  of  course  the  Bentleys 
had  got  Glendenning  there  to  marry  him,  and  in  effect 
did  not  want  any  one  to  witness  the  disgraceful  spec 
tacle. 

I  said,  "  That  may  be  the  nefarious  purpose  of  the 
young  lady,  but,  as  I  understood  Glendenning,  it  is  no 
part  of  her  mother's  design." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  Miss  Bentley  may  have  got  him  there  to  marry 
him,  but  Mrs.  Bentley  seems  to  have  meant  nothing 
more  than  an  engagement  at  the  worst." 

"  What  do  you  mean  2  They're  not  engaged,  are 
they?" 

"  They're  not  married,  at  any  rate,  and  I  suppose 
they're  engaged.  I  did  not  have  it  from  Miss  Bent- 
ley,  but  I  suppose  Glendenning  may  be  trusted  in 
such  a  case." 


20  A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS. 

"  Now,"  said  my  wife,  with  a  severity  that  might 
well  have  appalled  me,  "  if  you  will  please  to  explain, 
Basil,  it  will  be  better  for  you." 

"Why,  it  is  simply  this.  Glendenning  seems  to 
have  made  himself  so  useful  to  the  mother  and  pleas 
ing  to  the  daughter  after  we  left  them  in  Montreal 
that  he  was  tolerated  on  a  pretence  that  there  was 
reason  for  his  writing  back  to  Mrs.  Bentley  after  he 
got  home,  and,  as  Mrs.  Bentley  never  writes  letters, 
Miss  Bentley  had  the  hard  task  of  answering  him. 
This  led  to  a  correspondence." 

"  And  to  her  moving  heaven  and  earth  to  get  him 
to  Gormanville.  I  see  !  Of  course  she  did  it  so  that 
no  one  knew  what  she  was  about !  " 

"  Apparently.  Glendenning  himself  was  not  in  the 
secret.  The  Bentleys  were  in  Europe  last  summer, 
and  he  did  not  know  that  they  had  a  place  at  Gor 
manville  till  he  came  to  live  there.  Another  proof 
that  Miss  Bentley  got  him  there  is  the  fact  that  she 
and  her  mother  are  Unitarians,  and  that  they  would 
naturally  be  able  to  select  the  rector  of  the  Episcopal 
church." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mrs.  March,  not  the  least  daunted. 

"  Oh,  there's  nothing  more.  He  is  simply  rector 
of  St.  Michael's  at  Gormanville ;  and  there  is  not  the 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT    LOVERS.  21 

slightest  proof  that  any  young  lady  had  a  hand  in 
getting  him  there." 

"  As  if  I  cared  in  the  least  whether  she  had !  I  sup 
pose  you  will  allow  that  she  had  something  to  do  with 
getting  engaged  to  him,  and  that  is  the  great  matter." 

"  Yes,  I  must  allow  that,  if  we  are  to  suppose  that 
young  ladies  have  anything  to  do  with  young  men 
getting  engaged  to  them ;  it  doesn't  seem  exactly  del 
icate.  But  the  novel  phase  of  this  great  matter  is  the 
position  of  the  young  lady's  mother  in  regard  to  it. 
From  what  I  could  make  out  she  consents  to  the  en 
gagement  of  her  daughter,  but  she  don't  and  won't 
consent  to  her  marriage."  My  wife  glared  at  me  with 
so  little  speculation  in  her  eyes  that  I  felt  obliged  to 
disclaim  all  responsibility  for  the  fact  I  had  reported. 
"  Thou  canst  not  say  /  did  it.  They  did  it,  and  Miss 
Bentley,  if  any  one,  is  to  blame.  It  seems,  from  what 
Glendenning  says,  that  the  young  lady  and  he  wrote 
to  each  other  while  she  was  abroad,  and  that  they  be 
came  engaged  by  letter.  Then  the  affair  was  broken 
off  because  of  her  mother's  opposition ;  but  since  they 
have  met  at  Gormanville,  the  engagement  has  been 
renewed.  So  much  they've  managed  against  the  old 
lady's  will,  but  apparently  on  condition  that  they 
won't  get  married  till  she  says." 


22  A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS. 

"  Nonsense  !     How  could  she  stop  them  ? " 

"  She  couldn't,  I  dare  say,  by  any  of  the  old  roman 
tic  methods  of  a  convent  or  disinheritance ;  but  she  is 
an  invalid ;  she  wants  to  keep  her  daughter  with  her, 
and  she  avails  with  the  girl's  conscience  by  being 
simply  dependent  and  obstructive.  The  young  people 
have  carried  their  engagement  through,  and  now  such 
hope  as  they  have  is  fixed  upon  her  finally  yielding  in 
the  matter  of  their  marriage,  though  Glendenning  was 
obliged  to  confess  that  there  was  no  sign  of  her  doing 
so.  They  agree — Miss  Bentley  and  he — that  they 
cannot  get  married  as  they  got  engaged,  in  spite  of 
her  mother — it  would  be  unclerical  if  it  wouldn't  be 
unfilial — and  they  simply  have  to  bide  their  time." 

My  wife  asked  abruptly,  "  How  many  chambers  are 
there  in  the  Conwell  place  ? " 

I  said,  and  then  she  asked,  "Is  there  a  windmill  or 
a  force-pump  ? "  I  answered  proudly  that  in  Gorman- 
ville  there  was  town  water,  but  that  if  this  should 
give  out  there  were  both  a  windmill  and  a  force-pump 
on  the  Conwell  place. 

"  It  is  very  complete,"  she  sighed,  as  if  this  had  re^ 
moved  all  hope  from  her,  and  she  added,  "  I  suppose 
we  had  better  take  it." 


V. 

WE  certainly  did  not  take  it  for  the  sake  of  being 
near  the  Bentleys,  neither  of  whom  had  given  us  par 
ticular  reason  to  desire  their  further  acquaintance, 
though  the  young  lady  had  agreeably  modified  herself 
when  apart  from  her  mother.  In  fact,  we  went  to 
Gormanville  because  it  was  an  exceptional  chance  to 
get  a  beautiful  place  for  a  very  little  money,  where  we 
could  go  early  and  stay  late.  But  no  sooner  had  we 
acted  from  this  quite  personal,  not  to  say  selfish,  mo 
tive  than  we  were  rewarded  with  the  sweetest  overtures 
of  neighborliness  by  the  Bentleys.  They  waited,  of 
course,  till  we  were  settled  in  our  house  before  they 
came  to  call  upon  Mrs.  March,  but  they  had  been 
preceded  by  several  hospitable  offerings  from  their 
garden,  their  dairy,  and  their  hen-house,  which  were 
very  welcome  in  the  days  of  our  first  uncertainty  as 
to  trades-people.  We  analyzed  this  hospitality  as  an 
effect  of  that  sort  of  nature  in  Mrs.  Bentley  which  can 
equally  assert  its  superiority  by  blessing  or  banning. 


24        A  PAIR  OF  PATIENT  LOVERS. 

Evidently,  since  chance  had  again  thrown  us  in  her 
way,  she  would  not  go  out  of  it  to  be  offensive,  but 
would  continue  in  it,  and  make  the  best  of  us. 

No  doubt  Glendenning  had  talked  us  into  the  Bent- 
leys  ;  and  this  my  wife  said  she  hated  most  of  all ;  for 
we  should  have  to  live  up  to  the  notion  of  us  imparted 
by  a  young  man  from  the  impressions  of  the  moment 
when  he  saw  us  purple  in  the  light  of  his  dawning 
love.  In  justice  to  Glendenning,  however,  I  must  say 
that  he  did  nothing,  by  a  show  of  his  own  assiduities, 
to  urge  us  upon  the  Bentleys  after  we  came  to  Gor- 
manville.  If  we  had  not  felt  so  sure  of  him,  we 
might  have  thought  he  was  keeping  his  regard  for  us 
a  little  too  modestly  in  the  background.  He  made  us 
one  cool  little  call,  the  evening  of  our  arrival,  in  which 
he  had  the  effect  of  anxiety  to  get  away  as  soon  as 
possible ;  and  after  that  we  saw  him  no  more  until  he 
came  with  Miss  Bentley  and  her  mother  a  week  later. 
His  forbearance  was  all  the  more  remarkable  because 
his  church  and  his  rectory  were  just  across  the  street 
from  the  Conwell  place,  at  the  corner  of  another  street, 
where  we  could  see  their  wooden  gothic  in  the  cold 
shadow  of  the  maples  with  which  the  green  in  front 
of  them  was  planted. 

During  all  that  time  Glendenning's  personal  eleva- 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT    LOVERS.  25 

tion  remained  invisible  to  us,  and  we  began  to  wonder 
if  lie  were  not  that  most  lamentable  of  fellow-creat 
ures,  a  clerical  snob.  I  am  not  sure  still  that  he 
might  not  have  been  so  in  some  degree,  there  was  such 
a  mixture  of  joy  that  was  almost  abject  in  his  genuine 
affection  for  us  when  Mrs.  Bentley  openly  approved 
us  on  her  first  visit.  I  dare  say  he  would  not  have 
quite  abandoned  us  in  any  case;  but  he  must  have 
felt  responsible  for  us,  and  it  must  have  been  such  a 
load  off  him  when  she  took  that  turn  with  us. 

She  called  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  young  people 
dropped  in  again  the  same  evening,  and  took  the 
trouble  to  win  back  our  simple  hearts.  That  is,  Miss 
Bentley  showed  herself  again  as  frank  and  sweet  as 
she  had  been  on  the  boat  when  she  joined  my  wife 
after  dinner  and  left  her  mother  in  her  state-room. 
Glendenning  was  again  the  Glendenning  of  our  first 
meeting,  and  something  more.  He  fearlessly  led  the 
way  to  intimacies  of  feeling  with  an  expansion  uncom 
mon  even  in  an  accepted  lover,  and  we  made  our 
conclusions  that  however  subject  he  might  be  to  his 
indefinitely  future  mother-in-law,  he  would  not  be  at 
all  so  to  his  wife,  if  she  could  help  it.  He  took  the 
lead,  but  because  she  gave  it  him ;  and  she  displayed 
an  aptness  for  conjugal  submissiveness  which  almost 


26        A  PAIR  OF  PATIENT  LOVERS. 

amounted  to  genius.  Whenever  she  spoke  to  either 
of  us,  it  was  with  one  eye  on  him  to  see  if  he  liked 
what  she  was  saying.  It  was  so  perfect  that  I  doubted 
if  it  could  last ;  but  my  wife  said  a  girl  like  that  could 
keep  it  up  till  she  dropped.  I  have  never  been  sure 
that  she  liked  us  as  well  as  he  did ;  I  think  it  was  part 
of  her  intense  loyalty  to  seem  to  like  us  a  great  deal 
more. 

She  was  deeply  in  love,  and  nothing  but  her  lady 
like  breeding  kept  her  from  being  openly  fond.  I 
figured  her  in  a  sort  of  impassioned  incandescence, 
such  as  only  a  pure  and  perhaps  cold  nature  could 
burn  into  ;  and  I  amused  myself  a  little  with  the  sense 
of  Glendenning's  apparent  inadequacy.  Sweet  he 
was,  and  admirably  gentle  and  fine ;  he  had  an  unfail 
ing  good  sense,  and  a  very  ready  wisdom,  as  I  grew 
more  and  more  to  perceive.  But  he  was  an  inch  or  so 
shorter  than  Miss  Bentley,  and  in  his  sunny  blondness, 
with  his  golden  red  beard  and  hair,  and  his  pinkish 
complexion,  he  wanted  still  more  the  effect  of  an  emo 
tional  equality  with  her.  He  was  very  handsome,  with 
features  excellently  regular ;  his  smile  was  celestially 
beautiful ;  innocent  gay  lights  danced  in  his  blue  eyes, 
through  lashes  and  under  brows  that  were  a  lighter 
blond  than  his  beard  and  hair. 


VI. 

THE  next  morning,  which  was  of  a  Saturday,  wnen 
I  did  not  go  to  town,  he  came  over  to  us  again  from 
the  shadow  of  his  sombre  maples,  and  fell  simply  and 
naturally  into  talk  about  his  engagement.  He  was 
much  fuller  in  my  wife's  presence  than  he  had  been 
with  me  alone,  and  told  us  the  hopes  he  had  of  Mrs. 
Bentley's  yielding  within  a  reasonable  time.  He 
seemed  to  gather  encouragement  from  the  sort  of  per 
spective  he  got  the  affair  into  by  putting  it  before  us, 
and  finding  her  dissent  to  her  daughter's  marriage  so 
ridiculous  in  our  eyes  after  her  consent  to  her  engage 
ment  that  a  woman  of  her  great  good  sense  evidently 
could  not  persist  in  it. 

"There  is  no  personal  objection  to  myself,"  he 
said,  with  a  modest  satisfaction.  "  In  fact,  I  think 
she  really  likes  me,  and  only  dislikes  my  engagement 
to  Edith.  But  she  knows  that  Edith  is  incapable  of 
marrying  against  her  mother's  will,  or  I  of  wishing 


28  A    PAIR    OF   PATIENT    LOVERS. 

her  to  do  so ;  though  there  is  nothing  else  to  prevent 
us." 

My  wife  allowed  herself  to  say,  "  Isn't  it  rather 
cruel  of  her  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  not  altogether ;  or  not  so  much  so  as  it 
might  be  in  different  circumstances.  I  make  every 
allowance  for  her.  In  the  first  place,  she  is  a  great 
sufferer." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  my  wife  relented. 

"  She  suffers  terribly  from  asthma.  I  don't  suppose 
she  has  lain  down  in  bed  for  ten  years.  She  sleeps 
in  an  easy -chair,  and  she's  never  quite  free  from  her 
trouble ;  when  there's  a  paroxysm  of  the  disease,  her 
anguish  is  frightful.  I've  never  seen  it,  of  course, 
but  I  have  heard  it ;  you  hear  it  all  through  the  house. 
Edith  has  the  constant  care  of  her.  Her  mother  has 
to  be  perpetually  moved  and  shifted  in  her  chair,  and 
Edith  does  this  for  her ;  she  will  let  no  one  else  come 
near  her ;  Edith  must  look  to  the  ventilation,  and  burn 
the  pastilles  which  help  her  to  breathe.  She  depends 
upon  her  every  instant."  He  had  grown  very  solemn 
in  voice  and  face,  and  he  now  said,  "  When  I  think  of 
what  she  endures,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  I  who  am 
cruel  even  to  dream  of  taking  her  daughter  from  her." 

"  Yes,"  my  wife  assented. 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS.  29 

"  But  there  is  really  no  present  question  of  that. 
We  are  very  happy  as  it  is.  We  can  wait,  and  wait 
willingly  till  Mrs.  Bentley  wishes  us  to  wait  no  longer ; 
or—" 

He  stopped,  and  we  were  both  aware  of  something 
in  his  mind  which  he  put  from  him.  He  became  a 
little  pale,  and  sat  looking  very  grave.  Then  he  rose. 
"  I  don't  know  whether  to  say  how  welcome  you 
would  be  at  St.  Michael's  to-morrow,  for  you  may  not 
be—" 

"  We  are  Unitarians,  too,"  said  Mrs.  March.  "But 
we  are  coming  to  hear  you." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  coming  to  church"  said  Glen- 
denning,  putting  away  the  personal  tribute  implied 
with  a  gentle  dignity  that  became  him. 


VIL 

WE  waited  a  discreet  time  before  returning  the  call 
of  the  Bentley  ladies,  but  not  so  long  as  to  seem 
conscious.  In  fact,  we  had  been  softened  towards 
Mrs.  Bentley  by  what  Glendenning  told  us  of  her  suf 
fering,  and  we  were  disposed  to  forgive  a  great  deal 
of  patronage  and  superiority  to  her  asthma ;  they  were 
not  part  of  the  disease,  but  still  they  were  somehow 
to  be  considered  with  reference  to  it  in  her  case. 

We  were  admitted  by  the  maid,  who  came  running 
down  the  hall  stairway,  with  a  preoccupied  air,  to  the 
open  door  where  we  stood  waiting.  There  were  two 
great  syringa-bushes  on  each  hand  close  to  the  portal, 
which  were  in  full  flower,  and  which  flung  their  sweet 
ness  through  the  doorway  and  the  windows ;  but  when 
we  found  ourselves  in  the  dim  old-fashioned  parlor, 
we  were  aware  of  this  odor  meeting  and  mixing  with 
another  which  descended  from  the  floor  above — the 
smell  of  some  medicated  pastille.  There  was  a  sound 


A   PAIR   OF    PATIENT    LOVERS.  31 

of  anxious  steps  overhead,  and  a  hurried  closing  of 
doors,  with  the  mechanical  sound  of  labored  breathing. 

"  We  have  come  at  a  bad  time,"  I  suggested. 

"  Yes,  why  did  they  let  us  in  ?  "  cried  my  wife  in 
an  anguish  of  compassion  and  vexation.  She  repeated 
her  question  to  Miss  Bentley,  who  came  down  almost 
immediately,  looking  pale,  indeed,  but  steady,  and 
making  a  brave  show  of  welcome. 

"  My  mother  would  have  wished  it,"  she  said,  "  and 
she  sent  me  as  soon  as  she  knew  who  it  was.  You 
mustn't  be  distressed,"  she  entreated,  with  a  pathetic 
smile.  "  It's  really  a  kind  of  relief  to  her ;  anything 
is  that  takes  her  mind  off  herself  for  a  moment.  She 
will  be  so  sorry  to  miss  you,  and  you  must  come  again 
as  soon  as  you  can." 

"  Oh,  we  will,  we  will ! "  cried  my  wife,  in  nothing 
less  than  a  passion  of  meekness ;  and  Miss  Bentley 
went  on  to  comfort  her. 

"  It's  dreadful,  of  course,  but  it  isn't  as  bad  as  it 
sounds,  and  it  isn't  nearly  so  bad  as  it  looks.  She  is 
used  to  it,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  in  that.  Oh, 
don't  go ! "  she  begged,  at  a  movement  Mrs.  March 
made  to  rise.  "  The  doctor  is  with  her  just  now,  and 
Fin  not  needed.  It  will  be  kind  if  you'll  stay  ;  it's  a 
relief  to  be  out  of  the  room  with  a  good  excuse ! " 


32  A   PAIR  OF   PATIENT   LOVERS. 

She  even  laughed  a  little  as  she  said  this ;  she  went 
on  to  lead  the  talk  away  from  what  was  so  intensely 
in  our  minds,  and  presently  I  heard  her  and  my  wife 
speaking  of  other  things.  The  power  to  do  this  is 
from  some  heroic  quality  in  women's  minds  that  we 
do  not  credit  them  with ;  we  think  it  their  volatility, 
and  I  dare  say  I  thought  myself  much  better,  or  at 
least  more  serious  in  my  make,  because  I  could  not 
follow  them,  and  did  not  lose  one  of  those  hoarse 
gasps  of  the  sufferer  overhead.  Occasionally  there 
came  a  stifling  cry  that  made  me  jump,  inwardly  if 
not  outwardly,  but  those  women  had  their  drama  to 
play,  and  they  played  it  to  the  end. 

Miss  Bentley  came  hospitably  to  the  door  with  us, 
and  waited  there  till  she  thought  we  could  not  see  her 
turn  and  run  swiftly  up-stairs. 

"  Why  did  you  stay,  my  dear  ? "  I  groaned.  "  I 
felt  as  if  I  were  personally  smothering  Mrs.  Bentley 
every  moment  we  were  there." 

"  I  had  to  do  it.  She  wished  it,  and,  as  she  said, 
it  was  a  relief  to  have  us  there,  though  she  was  wish 
ing  us  at  the  ends  of  the  earth  all  the  time.  But 
what  a  ghastly  life  !  " 

"  Yes ;  and  can  you  wonder  that  the  poor  woman 
doesn't  want  to  give  her  up,  to  lose  the  help  and  com- 


A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS.  33 

fort  she  gets  from  her  ?     It's  a  wicked  thing  for  that 
girl  to  think  of  marrying." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Basil  ?  It's  a  wicked 
thing  for  her  not  to  think  of  it !  She  is  wearing  her 
life  out,  tearing  it  out,  and  she  isn't  doing  her  mother 
a  bit  of  good.  Her  mother  would  be  just  as  well,  and 
better,  with  a  good  strong  nurse,  who  could  lift  her 
this  way  and  that,  and  change  her  about,  without  feel 
ing  her  heart-strings  wrung  at  every  gasp,  as  that 
poor  child  must.  Oh,  I  wish  Glendenning  was  man 
enough  to  make  her  run  off  with  him,  and  get  married, 
in  spite  of  everything.  But,  of  course,  that's  impos 
sible — for  a  clergyman  !  And  her  sacrifice  began  so 
long  ago  that  it's  become  part  of  her  life,  and  she'll 
simply  have  to  keep  on." 
C 


VIII. 

WHEN  her  attack  passed  off,  Mrs.  Bentley  sent  and 
begged  my  wife  to  come  again  and  see  her.  She  went 
without  me,  while  I  was  in  town,  but  she  was  so  cir 
cumstantial  in  her  report  of  her  visit,  when  I  came 
home,  that  I  never  felt  quite  sure  I  had  not  been 
present.  What  most  interested  us  both  was  the  ex 
treme  independence  which  the  mother  and  daughter 
showed  beyond  a  certain  point,  and  the  daughter's 
great  frankness  in  expressing  her  difference  of  feeling. 
We  had  already  had  some  hint  of  this,  the  first  day 
we  met  her,  and  we  were  not  surprised  at  it  now,  my 
wife  at  first  hand,  or  I  at  second  hand.  Mrs.  Bentley 
opened  the  way  for  her  daughter  by  saying  that  the 
worst  of  sickness  was  that  it  made  one  such  an  afflic 
tion  to  others.  She  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  devo 
tion,  she  said,  but  her  suffering  left  her  so  little  of 
life  that  she  could  not  help  clinging  selfishly  to  every 
thing  that  remained. 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS.  35 

My  wife  perceived  that  this  was  meant  for  Miss 
Bentley,  though  it  was  spoken  to  herself ;  and  Miss 
Bentley  seemed  to  take  the  same  view  of  the  fact. 
She  said :  "  We  needn't  use  any  circumlocution  with 
Mrs.  March,  mother.  She  knows  just  how  the  affair 
stands.  You  can  say  whatever  you  wish,  though  I 
don't  know  why  you  should  wish  to  say  anything. 
You  have  made  your  own  terms  with  us,  and  we  are 
keeping  them  to  the  letter.  What  more  can  you  ask  ? 
Do  you  want  me  to  break  with  Mr.  Glendenning  ?  I 
will  do  that  too,  if  you  ask  it.  You  have  got  every 
thing  but  that,  and  you  can  have  that  at  any  time. 
But  Arthur  and  I  are  perfectly  satisfied  as  it  is,  and 
we  can  wait  as  long  as  you  wish  us  to  wait." 

Her  mother  said :  "  I'm  not  allowed  to  forget  that 
for  a  single  hour,"  and  Miss  Bentley  said,  "  I  never 
remind  you  of  it  unless  you  make  me,  mother.  You 
may  be  thinking  of  it  all  the  time,  but  it  isn't  because 
of  anything  I  say." 

"  Or  that  you  do  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Bentley  ;  and  her 
daughter  answered,  "  I  can't  help  existing,  of  course." 

My  wife  broke  off  from  the  account  she  was  giving 
me  of  her  visit :  "  You  can  imagine  how  pleasant  all 
this  was  for  me,  Basil,  and  how  anxious  I  was  to  pro 
long  my  call ! " 


36  A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS. 

"  Well,"  I  returned,  "  there  were  compensations. 
It  was  extremely  interesting ;  it  was  life.  You  can't 
deny  that,  my  dear." 

"  It  was  more  like  death.  Several  times  I  was  on 
the  point  of  going,  but  you  know  when  there's  been 
a  painful  scene  you  feel  so  sorry  for  the  people  who've 
made  it  that  you  can't  bear  to  leave  them  to  them 
selves.  I  did  get  up  to  go,  once,  in  mere  self-defence, 
but  they  both  urged  me  to  stay,  and  I  couldn't  help 
staying  till  they  could  talk  of  other  things.  But  now 
tell  me  what  you  think  of  it  all.  Which  should  your 
feeling  be  with  the  most?  That  is  what  I  want  to 
get  at  before  I  tell  you  mine." 

"  Which  side  was  I  on  when  we  talked  about  them 
last  ?  " 

"  Oh,  when  did  we  talk  about  them  last?  We  are 
always  talking  about  them !  I  am  getting  no  good 
of  the  summer  at  all.  I  shall  go  home  in  the  fall 
more  jaded  and  worn  out  than  when  I  came.  To 
think  that  we  should  have  this  beautiful  place,  where 
we  could  be  so  happy  and  comfortable,  if  it  were  not 
for  having  this  abnormal  situation  under  our  nose  and 
eyes  all  the  time  !  " 

"  Abnormal  ?  I  don't  call  it  abnormal,"  I  began, 
and  I  was  sensible  of  my  wife's  thoughts  leaving  her 


A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS.  87 

own  injuries  for  my  point  of  view  so  swiftly  that  I 
could  almost  hear  them  whir. 

"  Not  abnormal ! "  she  gasped. 

"  No ;  only  too  natural.  Isn't  it  perfectly  natural 
for  an  invalid  like  that  to  want  to  keep  her  daughter 
with  her ;  and  isn't  it  perfectly  natural  for  a  daughter, 
with  a  New  England  sense  of  duty,  to  yield  to  her 
wish  ?  You  might  say  that  she  could  get  married  and 
live  at  home,  and  then  she  and  Glendenning  could 
both  devote  themselves — " 

"No,  no,"  my  wife  broke  in,  "that  wouldn't  do. 
Marriage  is  marriage ;  and  it  puts  the  husband  and 
wife  with  each  other  first ;  when  it  doesn't,  it's  a  mis 
erable  mockery." 

"  Even  when  there's  a  sick  mother  in  the  case  ? " 

"  A  thousand  sick  mothers  wouldn't  alter  the  case. 
And  that's  what  they  all  three  instinctively  know,  and 
they're  doing  the  only  thing  they  can  do." 

"  Then  I  don't  see  what  we're  complaining  of." 

"  Complaining  of  ?  We're  complaining  of  its  being 
all  wrong  and — romantic.  Her  mother  has  asked 
more  than  she  had  any  right  to  ask,  and  Miss  Bentley 
has  tried  to  do  more  than  she  can  perform,  and  that 
has  made  them  hate  each  other." 

"  Should  you  say  hate,  quite  ? " 


38  A    PAIR   OF    PATIENT    LOVERS. 

"  It  must  come  to  that,  if  Mrs.  Bentley  lives." 

"  Then  let  us  hope  she — 

"My  dear!"  cried  Mrs.  March,  warningly. 

"  Oh,  come,  now  !"  I  retorted.  "Do  you  mean  to 
say  that  you  haven't  thought  how  very  much  it  would 
simplify  the  situation  if — " 

"  Of  course  I  have  !  And  that  is  the  wicked  part 
of  it.  It's  that  that  is  wearing  me  out.  It's  perfectly 
hideous ! " 

"  Well,  fortunately  we're  not  actively  concerned  in 
the  affair,  and  we  needn't  take  any  measures  in  regard 
to  it.  We  are  mere  spectators,  and  as  I  see  it  the 
situation  is  not  only  inevitable  for  Mrs.  Bentley,  but 
it  has  a  sort  of  heroic  propriety  for  Miss  Bentley." 

"And  Glendenning?" 

"  Oh,  Glendenning  isn't  provided  for  in  my  scheme." 

"  Then  I  can  tell  you  that  your  scheme,  Basil,  is 
worse  than  worthless." 

"  I  didn't  brag  of  it,  my  dear,"  I  said,  meekly 
enough.  "  I'm  sorry  for  him,  but  I  can't  help  him, 
He  must  provide  for  himself  out  of  his  religion." 


IX. 

IT  was,  indeed,  a  trying  summer  for  our  emotions, 
torn  as  we  were  between  our  pity  for  Mrs.  Bentley 
and  our  compassion  for  her  daughter.  We  had  no 
repose,  except  when  we  centred  our  sympathies  upon 
Glendenning,  whom  we  could  yearn  over  in  tender 
regret  without  doing  any  one  else  wrong,  or  even  crit 
icising  another.  He  was  our  great  stay  in  that  re 
spect,  and  though  a  mere  external  witness  might  have 
thought  that  he  had  the  easiest  part,  we  who  knew  his 
gentle  and  affectionate  nature  could  not  but  feel  for 
him.  We  never  concealed  from  ourselves  certain 
foibles  of  his ;  I  have  hinted  at  one,  and  we  should 
have  liked  it  better  if  he  had  not  been  so  sensible  of 
the  honor,  from  a  worldly  point,  of  being  engaged  to 
Miss  Bentley.  But  this  was  a  very  innocent  vanity, 
and  he  would  have  been  willing  to  suffer  for  her 
mother  and  for  herself,  if  she  had  let  him.  I  have 
tried  to  insinuate  how  she  would  not  let  him,  but 


4O  A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT   LOVERS. 

freed  him  as  much  as  possible  from  the  stress  of  the 
situation,  and  assumed  for  him  a  mastery,  a  primacy, 
which  he  would  never  have  assumed  for  himself.  We 
thought  this  very  pretty  of  her,  and  in  fact  she  was 
capable  of  pretty  things.  What  was  hard  and  arrogant 
in  her,  and  she  was  not  without  something  of  the  kind 
at  times,  was  like  her  mother ;  but  even  she,  poor  soul, 
had  her  good  points,  as  I  have  attempted  to  suggest. 
We  used  to  dwell  upon  them,  when  our  talk  with 
Glendenning  grew  confidential,  as  it  was  apt  to  do ; 
for  it  seemed  to  console  him  to  realize  that  her  daugh 
ter  and  he  were  making  their  sacrifice  to  a  not  wholly 
unamiable  person. 

He  confided  equally  in  my  wife  and  myself,  but 
there  were  times  when  I  think  he  rather  preferred  the 
counsel  of  a  man  friend.  Once  when  we  had  gone  a 
walk  into  the  country,  which  around  Gormanville  is 
of  the  pathetic  Mid-Massachusetts  loveliness  and  pov 
erty,  we  sat  down  in  a  hill-side  orchard  to  rest,  and  he 
began  abruptly  to  talk  of  his  affair.  Sometimes,  he 
said,  he  felt  that  it  was  all  an  error,  and  he  could  not 
rid  himself  of  the  fear  that  an  error  persisted  in  was 
a  wrong,  and  therefore  a  species  of  sin. 

"  That  is  very  interesting,"  I  said.  "  I  wonder  if 
there  is  anything  in  it  ?  At  first  blush  it  looks  so 


A   PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS.  41 

logical ;  but  is  it  ?  Or  are  you  simply  getting  morbid  ? 
What  is  the  error  ?  What  is  your  error  ? " 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  with  a  gentle  refusal  of  my 
willingness  to  make  light  of  his  trouble.  "  It  is  surely 
an  error  to  allow  a  woman  to  give  her  word  when  she 
can  promise  nothing  more,  and  to  let  her  hold  herself 
to  it." 

I  could  have  told  him  that  I  did  not  think  the  error 
in  this  case  was  altogether  or  mainly  his,  or  the  per 
sistence  in  it ;  for  it  had  seemed  to  me  from  the  be 
ginning  that  the  love  between  him  and  Miss  Bentley 
was  fully  as  much  her  affair  as  his,  and  that  quite 
within  the  bounds  of  maidenly  modesty  she  showed 
herself  as  passionately  true  to  their  plighted  troth. 
But  of  course  this  would  not  do,  and  I  had  to  be 
content  with  the  ironical  suggestion  that  he  might  try 
offering  to  release  Miss  Bentley. 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me,"  he  implored,  and  I  confess 
his  tone  would  have  taken  from  me  any  heart  to  do 
so. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  I  said,  "  I  see  your  point.  But 
don't  you  think  you  are  quite  needlessly  adding  to 
your  affliction  by  pressing  it  ?  You  two  are  in  the 
position  which  isn't  at  all  uncommon  with  engaged 
people,  of  having  to  wait  upon  exterior  circumstances 


42  A   PAIR   OF  PATIENT  LOVERS. 

before  you  get  married.  Suppose  you  were  prevented 
by  poverty,  as  often  happens  ?  It  would  be  a  hardship 
as  it  is  now ;  but  in  that  case  would  your  engagement 
be  any  less  an  error  than  it  is  now  ?  I  don't  think  it 
would,  and  I  don't  believe  you  think  so  either." 

"  In  that  case  we  should  not  be  opposing  our  wills 
to  the  will  of  some  one  else,  who  has  a  better  claim 
to  her  daughter's  allegiance  than  I  have.  It  seems  to 
me  that  our  error  was  in  letting  her  mother  consent 
to  our  engagement  if  she  would  not  or  could  not  con 
sent  to  our  marriage.  When  it  came  to  that  we  ought 
both  to  have  had  the  strength  to  say  that  then  there 
should  be  no  engagement.  It  was  my  place  to  do 
that.  I  could  have  prevented  the  error  which  I  can't 
undo." 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  could  have  been  easier  to  pre 
vent  than  to  undo  your  error.  I  don't  admit  it's  an 
error,  but  I  call  it  so  because  you  do.  After  all,  an 
engagement  is  nothing  but  an  open  confession  between 
two  people  that  they  are  in  love  with  each  other  and 
wish  to  marry.  There  need  be  no  sort  of  pledge  or 
promise  to  make  the  engagement  binding,  if  there  is 
love.  It's  the  love  that  binds." 

"Yes." 

"  It  bound  you  from  your  first  acknowledgment  of 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS.  43 

it,  and  unless  you  could  deny  your  love  now,  or  here 
after,  it  must  always  bind  you.  If  you  own  that  you 
still  love  each  other,  you  are  still  engaged,  no  matter 
how  much  you  release  each  other.  Could  you  think 
of  loving  her  and  marrying  some  one  else  ?  Could 
she  love  you  and  marry  another  ?  There  isn't  any 
error,  unless  you've  mistaken  your  feeling  for  each 
other.  If  you  have,  I  should  decidedly  say  you 
couldn't  break  your  engagement  too  soon.  In  fact, 
there  wouldn't  be  any  real  engagement  to  break." 

"  Of  course  you  are  right,"  said  Glendenning,  but 
not  so  strenuously  as  he  might. 

I  had  a  feeling  that  he  had  not  put  forward  the 
main  cause  of  his  unhappiness,  though  he  had  given 
a  true  cause ;  that  he  had  made  some  lesser  sense  of 
wrong  stand  for  a  greater,  as  people  often  do  in  con 
fessing  themselves ;  and  I  was  not  surprised  when  he 
presently  added :  "  It  is  not  merely  the  fact  that  she 
is  bound  in  that  way,  and  that  her  young  life  is  pass 
ing  in  this  sort  of  hopeless  patience,  but  that — that — 
I  don't  know  how  to  put  the  ugly  and  wicked  thing 
into  words,  but  I  assure  you  that  sometimes  when  I 
think — when  I'm  aware  that  I  know —  Ah,  I  can't 
say  it ! " 

"  I  fancy  I  understand  what  you  mean,  my  dear 


44  A    PAIR   OF    PATIENT    LOVERS. 

boy,"  I  said,  and  in  the  right  of  my  ten  years'  sen 
iority  I  put  my  hand  caressingly  on  his  shoulder, 
"  and  you  are  no  more  guilty  than  I  am  in  knowing 
that  if  Mrs.  Bentley  were  not  in  the  way  there  would 
be  no  obstacle  to  your  happiness." 

"But  such  a  cognition  is  of  hell/   he  cried,  and  he 
let  his  face  fall  into  his  hands  and  sobbed  heartrend- 


"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  such  a  cognition  is  of  hell  ;  you  are 
quite  right.  So  are  all  evil  concepts  and  knowledges  ; 
but  so  long  as  they  are  merely  things  of  our  intelli 
gence,  they  are  no  part  of  us,  and  we  are  not  guilty 
of  them." 

"No;  I  trust  not,  I  trust  not,"  he  returned,  and  I 
let  him  sob  his  trouble  out  before  I  spoke  again  ;  and 
then  I  began  with  a  laugh  of  unfeigned  gayety. 
Something  that  my  wife  had  hinted  in  one  of  our 
talks  about  the  lovers  freakishly  presented  itself  to 
my  mind,  and  I  said,  "  There  is  a  way,  and  a  very 
practical  way,  to  put  an  end  to  the  anomaly  you  feel 
in  an  engagement  which  doesn't  imply  a  marriage." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  he  asked,  not  very  hopefully  ; 
but  he  dried  his  eyes  and  calmed  himself. 

"Well,  speaking  after  the  manner  of  men,  you 
might  run  off  with  Miss  Bentley." 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT    LOVERS.  45 

All  the  blood  in  his  body  flushed  into  his  face. 
"  Don't ! "  he  gasped,  and  I  divined  that  what  I  had 
said  must  have  been  in  his  thoughts  before,  and  I 
laughed  again.  "  It  wouldn't  do,"  he  added,  pit- 
eously.  "  The  scandal — I  am  a  clergyman,  and  my 
parish — " 

I  perceived  that  no  moral  scruple  presented  itself 
to  him ;  when  it  came  to  the  point,  he  was  simply  and 
naturally  a  lover,  like  any  other  man  ;  and  I  persisted : 
"  It  would  only  be  a  seven  days'  wonder.  I  never 
heard  of  a  clergyman's  running  away  to  be  married ; 
but  they  must  have  sometimes  done  it.  Come,  I 
don't  believe  you'd  have  to  plead  hard  with  Miss 
Bentley,  and  Mrs.  March  and  I  will  aid  and  abet  you 
to  the  limit  of  our  small  ability.  I'm  sure  that  if  I 
wrap  up  warm  against  the  night  air,  she  will  let  me 
go  and  help  you  hold  the  rope-ladder  taut." 


IT  was  not  very  reverent  to  his  cloth,  or  his  recent 
tragical  mood,  but  Glendenning  was  not  offended ;  he 
laughed  with  a  sheepish  pleasure,  and  that  evening 
he  came  with  Miss  Bentlcy  to  call  upon  us.  The 
visit  passed  without  unusual  confidences  until  they 
rose  to  go,  when  she  said  abruptly  to  me :  "  I  feel 
that  we  both  owe  you  a  great  deal,  Mr.  March.  Arthur 
has  been  telling  me  of  your  talk  this  afternoon,  and  I 
think  that  what  you  said  was  all  so  wise  and  true ! 
I  don't  mean,"  she  added,  "  your  suggestion  about 
putting  an  end  to  the  anomaly !  "  and  she  and  Glen 
denning  both  laughed. 

My  wife  said,  "  That  was  very  wicked,  and  I  have 
scolded  him  for  thinking  of  such  a  thing."  She  had, 
indeed,  forgotten  that  she  had  put  it  in  my  head,  and 
made  me  wholly  responsible  for  it. 

"  Then  you  must  scold  me  too  a  little,  Mrs.  March,' 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS.  47 

said  the  girl,  "  for  IVe  sometimes  wondered  if  I 
couldn't  work  Arthur  up  to  the  point  of  making  me 
run  away  with  him,"  which  was  a  joke  that  wonder 
fully  amused  us  all. 

I  said,  "  I  shouldn't  think  it  would  be  so  difficult ;  " 
and  she  retorted : 

"  Oh,  you've  no  idea  how  obdurate  clergymen  are ; " 
and  then  she  went  on,  seriously,  to  thank  me  for  talk 
ing  Glendenning  out  of  his  morbid  mood.  With  the 
frankness  sometimes  characteristic  of  her  she  said 
that  if  he  had  released  her,  it  would  have  made  no 
difference — she  should  still  have  felt  herself  bound  to 
him ;  and  until  he  should  tell  her  that  he  no  longer 
cared  for  her,  she  should  feel  that  he  was  bound  to 
her.  I  saw  no  great  originality  in  this  reproduction 
of  my  own  ideas.  But  when  Miss  Bentley  added  that 
she  believed  her  mother  herself  would  be  shocked  and 
disappointed  if  they  were  to  give  each  other  up,  I  was 
aware  of  being  in  the  presence  of  a  curious  psycholog 
ical  fact.  I  so  wholly  lost  myself  in  the  inquiry  it 
invited  that  I  let  the  talk  flow  on  round  me  unheeded 
while  I  questioned  whether  Mrs.  Bentley  did  not  de 
rive  a  satisfaction  from  her  own  and  her  daughter's 
mutual  opposition  which  she  could  never  have  enjoyed 
from  their  perfect  agreement.  She  had  made  a  cer- 


48  A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS. 

tain  concession  in  consenting  to  the  engagement,  and 
this  justified  her  to  herself  in  refusing  her  consent  to 
the  marriage,  while  the  ingratitude  of  the  young  peo 
ple  in  not  being  content  with  what  she  had  done 
formed  a  grievance  of  constant  avail  with  a  lady  of 
her  temperament.  From  what  Miss  Bentley  let  fall, 
half  seriously,  half  jokingly,  as  well  as  what  I  ob 
served,  I  divined  a  not  unnatural  effect  of  the  strained 
relations  between  her  and  her  mother.  She  concen 
trated  whatever  resentment  she  felt  upon  Miss  Bentley, 
insomuch  that  it  seemed  as  though  she  might  alto 
gether  have  withdrawn  her  opposition  if  it  had  been 
a  question  merely  of  Glendenning's  marriage.  So  far 
from  disliking  him,  she  was  rather  fond  of  him,  and 
she  had  no  apparent  objection  to  him  except  as  her 
daughter's  husband.  It  had  not  always  been  so ;  at 
first  she  had  an  active  rancor  against  him ;  but  this 
had  gradually  yielded  to  his  invincible  goodness  and 
sweetness. 

"  Who  could  hold  out  against  him  ? "  his  betrothed 
demanded,  fondly,  when  these  facts  had  been  more  or 
less  expressed  to  us ;  and  it  was  not  the  first  time  that 
her  love  had  seemed  more  explicit  than  his.  He 
smiled  round  upon  her,  pressing  the  hand  she  put  in 
his  arm ;  for  she  asked  this  when  they  stood  on  our 


A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS.  49 

threshold  ready  to  go,  and  then  he  glanced  at  us  with 
eyes  that  fell  bashfully  from  ours. 

"  Oh,  of  course  it  will  come  right  in  time,"  said 
my  wife  when  they  were  gone,  and  I  agreed  that  they 
need  only  have  patience.  We  had  all  talked  ourselves 
into  a  cheerful  frame  concerning  the  affair ;  we  had 
seen  it  in  its  amusing  aspects,  and  laughed  about  it ; 
and  that  seemed  almost  in  itself  to  dispose  of  Mrs. 
Bentley's  opposition.  My  wife  and  I  decided  that 
this  could  not  long  continue ;  that  by-and-by  she  would 
become  tired  of  it,  and  this  would  happen  all  the 
sooner  if  the  lovers  submitted  absolutely,  and  did 
nothing  to  remind  her  of  their  submission. 
D 


XL 

THE  Conwells  came  home  from  Europe  the  next 
summer,  and  we  did  not  go  again  to  Gormanville. 
But  from  time  to  time  we  heard  of  the  Bentleys,  and 
we  heard  to  our  great  amaze  that  there  was  no  change 
in  the  situation,  as  concerned  Miss  Bentley  and  Glen- 
denning.  I  think  that  later  it  would  have  surprised 
us  if  we  had  learned  that  there  was  a  change.  Their 
lives  all  seemed  to  have  adjusted  themselves  to  the 
conditions,  and  we  who  were  mere  spectators  came  at 
last  to  feel  nothing  abnormal  in  them. 

Now  and  then  we  saw  Glendenning,  and  now  and 
then  Miss  Bentley  came  to  call  upon  Mrs.  March,  when 
she  was  in  town.  Her  mother  had  given  up  her  Bos 
ton  house,  and  they  lived  the  whole  year  round  at 
Gormanville,  where  the  air  was  good  for  Mrs.  Bentley 
without  her  apparently  being  the  better  for  it ;  again, 
we  heard  in  a  roundabout  way  that  t'heir  circumstances 
were  not  so  fortunate  as  they  had  been,  and  that  they 


A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS.  51 

had  given  up  their  Boston  house  partly  from  motives 
of  economy. 

There  was  no  reason  why  our  intimacy  with  the 
lovers'  affairs  should  continue,  and  it  did  not.  Miss 
Bentley  made  mention  of  Glendenning,  when  my  wife 
saw  her,  with  what  Mrs.  March  decided  to  be  an 
abiding  fealty,  but  without  offer  of  confidence;  and 
Glendenning,  when  we  happened  to  meet  at  rare  inter 
vals,  did  not  invite  me  to  more  than  formal  inquiriy 
concerning  the  well-being  of  Mrs.  Bentley  and  her 
daughter. 

He  was  undoubtedly  getting  older,  and  he  looked  it. 
He  was  one  of  those  gentle  natures  which  put  on  fat, 
not  from  self-indulgence,  but  from  want  of  resisting 
force,  and  the  clerical  waistcoat  that  buttoned  black  to 
his  throat  swayed  decidedly  beyond  a  straight  line  at 
his  waist.  His  red-gold  hair  was  getting  thin,  and 
though  he  wore  it  cut  close  all  round,  it  showed  thin 
ner  on  the  crown  than  on  the  temples,  and  his  pale 
eyebrows  were  waning.  He  had  a  settled  patience  of 
look  which  would  have  been  a  sadness,  if  there  had 
not  been  mixed  with  it  an  air  of  resolute  cheerfulness. 
1  am  not  sure  that  this  kept  it  from  being  sad,  either. 

Miss  Bentley,  on  her  part,  was  no  longer  the  young 
girl  she  was  when  we  met  on  the  Corinthian.  She 


52  A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT    LOVEKS. 

must  then  have  been  about  twenty,  and  she  was  now 
twenty-six,  but  she  looked  thirty.  Dark  people  show 
their  age  early,  and  she  showed  hers  in  cheeks  that 
grew  thinner  if  not  paler,  and  in  a  purple  shadow  un 
der  her  fine  eyes.  The  parting  of  her  black  hair  was 
wider  than  it  once  was,  and  she  wore  it  smooth  in 
apparent  disdain  of  those  arts  of  fluffing  and  fringing 
which  give  an  air  of  vivacity,  if  not  of  youth.  I 
should  say  she  had  always  been  a  serious  girl,  and 
now  she  showed  the  effect  of  a  life  that  could  not  have 
been  gay  for  any  one. 

The  lovers  promised  themselves,  as  we  knew,  that 
Mrs.  Bentley  would  relent,  and  abandon  what  was  more 
like  a  whimsical  caprice  than  a  settled  wish.  But  as 
time  wore  on,  and  she  gave  no  sign  of  changing,  I 
have  wondered  whether  some  change  did  not  come 
upon  them,  which  affected  them  towards  each  other 
without  affecting  their  constancy.  I  fancied  their 
youthful  passion  taking  on  the  sad  color  of  patience, 
and  contenting  itself  more  and  more  with  such  friendly 
companionship  as  their  fate  afforded;  it  became, 
without  marriage,  that  affectionate  comradery  which 
wedded  love  passes  into  with  the  lapse  of  as  many 
years  as  they  had  been  plighted.  "  What,"  I  once 
suggested  to  my  wife,  in  a  very  darkling  mood — 


A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS.  53 

"  what  if  they  should  gradually  grow  apart,  and  end  in 
rejoicing  that  they  had  never  been  allowed  to  join  their 
lives  ?  Wouldn't  that  be  rather  Hawthornesque  ?  " 

"  It  wouldn't  be  true,"  said  Mrs.  March,  "  and  I 
don't  see  why  you  should  put  such  a  notion  upon 
Hawthorne.  If  you  can't  be  more  cheerful  about  it, 
Basil,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  of  the  affair  at  all." 

"  Oh,  I'm  quite  willing  to  be  cheerful  about  it,  my 
dear,"  I  returned ;  "  and,  if  you  like,  we  will  fancy 
Mrs.  Bentley  coming  round  and  ardently  wishing  their 
marriage,  and  their  gayly  protesting  that  after  having 
given  the  matter  a  great  deal  of  thought  they  had 
decided  it  would  be  better  not  to  marry,  but  to  live  on 
separately  for  their  own  sake,  just  as  they  have  been 
doing  for  hers  so  long.  Wouldn't  that  be  cheerful  ? " 

Mrs.  March  said  that  if  I  wished  to  tease  it  was 
because  I  had  no  ideas  on  the  subject,  and  she  would 
advise  me  to  drop  it.  I  did  so,  for  the  better  part  of 
the  evening,  but  I  could  not  relinquish  it  altogether. 
"  Do  you  think,"  I  asked,  finally,  "  that  any  sort  of 
character  will  stand  the  test  of  such  a  prolonged  en 
gagement  ? " 

"  Why  not  ?  Very  indifferent  characters  stand  the 
test  of  marriage,  and  that's  indefinitely  prolonged." 

"Yes,  but  it's  not  indefinite  itself.       Marriage  is 


54  A   PAIR    OF   PATIENT    LOVERS. 

something  very  distinct  and  permanent ;  but  such  an 
engagement  as  this  has  no  sort  of  future.  It  is  a  mere 
motionless  present,  without  the  inspiration  of  a  com 
mon  life,  and  with  no  hope  of  release  from  durance 
except  through  a  chance  that  it  will  be  sorrow  instead 
of  joy.  I  should  think  they  would  go  to  pieces  un 
der  the  strain." 

"  But  as  you  see  they  don't,  perhaps  the  strain  isn't 
so  great  after  all." 

"  Ah,"  I  confessed,  "  there  is  that  wonderful  adap 
tation  of  the  human  soul  to  any  circumstances.  It's 
the  one  thing  that  makes  me  respect  our  fallen  nature. 
Fallen  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  we  ought  to  call  it  our 
risen  nature  ;  it  has  steadily  mounted  with  the  respon 
sibility  that  Adam  took  for  it — or  Eve." 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  my  wife,  pursuing  her  momen 
tary  advantage,  "  why  they  should  not  be  getting  as 
much  pleasure  or  happiness  out  of  life  as  most  mar 
ried  people.  Engagements  are  supposed  to  be  very 
joyous,  though  I  think  they're  rather  exciting  and 
restless  times,  as  a  general  thing.  If  they've  settled 
down  to  being  merely  engaged,  I've  no  doubt  they've 
decided  to  make  the  best  of  being  merely  engaged  as 
long  as  her  mother  lives." 

"  There  is  that  view  of  it,"  I  assented. 


XII. 

BY  the  following  autumn  Glendenning  had  com 
pleted  the  seventh  year  of  his  engagement  to  Miss 
Bentley,  and  I  reminded  my  wife  that  this  seemed  to 
be  the  scriptural  length  of  a  betrothal,  as  typified  in 
the  service  which  Jacob  rendered  for  Rachel.  "  But 
he  had  a  prospective  father-in-law  to  deal  with,"  I 
added,  "  and  Glendenning  a  mother-in-law.  That  may 
make  a  difference." 

Mrs.  March  did  not  join  me  in  the  humorous  view 
of  the  affair  which  I  took.  She  asked  me  if  I  had 
heard  anything  from  Glendenning  lately ;  if  that  were 
the  reason  why  I  mentioned  him. 

"  No,"  I  said ;  "  but  I  have  some  office  business 
that  will  take  me  to  Gormanville  to-morrow,  and  I  did 
not  know  but  you  might  like  to  go  too,  and  look  the 
ground  over,  and  see  how  much  we  have  been  suffering 
for  them  unnecessarily."  The  fact  was  that  we  had 
now  scarcely  spoken  of  Glendenning  or  the  Bentleys 


56  A    PAIR    OF   PATIENT    LOVERS. 

for  six  months,  and  our  minds  were  far  too  full  of  our 
own  affairs  to  be  given  more  than  very  superficially  to 
theirs  at  any  time.  "  We  could  both  go  as  well  as 
not,"  I  suggested,  "  and  you  could  call  upon  the  Bent- 
leys  while  I  looked  after  the  company's  business." 

"  Thank  you,  Basil,  I  think  I  will  let  you  go  alone," 
said  my  wife.  "  But  try  to  find  out  how  it  is  with 
them.  Don't  be  so  terribly  straightforward,  and  let 
it  look  as  if  that  was  what  you  came  for.  Don't  make 
the  slightest  advance  towards  their  confidence.  But 
do  let  them  open  up  if  they  will." 

"  My  dear,  you  may  depend  upon  my  asking  no 
leading  questions  whatever,  and  I  shall  behave  with 
far  more  discretion  than  if  you  were  with  me.  The 
danger  is  that  I  shall  behave  with  too  much,  for  I  find 
that  my  interest  in  their  affair  is  very  much  faded. 
There  is  every  probability  that  unless  Glendenning 
speaks  of  his  engagement  it  won't  be  spoken  of  at 
all." 

This  was  putting  it  rather  with  the  indifference  of 
the  past  six  months  than  with  the  feeling  of  the  pres 
ent  moment.  Since  I  had  known  that  I  was  going  to 
Gorman ville,  the  interest  I  denied  had  renewed  itself 
pretty  vividly  for  me,  and  I  was  intending  not  only 
to  get  everything  out  of  Glendenning  that  I  decently 


A    PAIR    OF   PATIENT    LOVERS.  57 

could,  but  to  give  him  as  much  good  advice  as  he 
would  bear.  I  was  going  to  urge  him  to  move  upon 
the  obstructive  Mrs.  Bentley  with  all  his  persuasive 
force,  and  I  had  formulated  some  arguments  for  him 
which  I  thought  he  might  use  with  success.  I  did 
not  tell  my  wife  that  this  was  my  purpose,  but  all  the 
same  I  cherished  it,  and  I  gathered  energy  for  the  en 
forcement  of  my  views  for  Glendenning's  happiness 
from  the  very  dejection  I  was  cast  into  by  the  out 
ward  effect  of  the  Gormanville  streets.  They  were 
all  in  a  funeral  blaze  of  their  shade  trees,  which  were 
mostly  maples,  but  were  here  and  there  a  stretch  of 
elms  meeting  in  arches  almost  consciously  Gothic  over 
the  roadway ;  the  maples  were  crimson  and  gold,  and 
the  elms  the  paly  yellow  that  they  affect  in  the  fall. 
A  silence  hung  under  their  sad  splendors  which  I  found 
deepen  when  I  got  into  what  the  inhabitants  called 
the  residential  part.  About  the  business  centre  there 
was  some  stir,  and  here  in  the  transaction  of  my 
affairs  I  was  in  the  thick  of  it  for  a  while.  Everybody 
remembered  me  in  a  pleasant  way,  and  I  had  to  stop 
and  pass  the  time  of  day,  as  they  would  have  said, 
with  a  good  many  whom  I  could  not  remember  at 
once.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  maples  in  front  of 
St.  Michael's  rectory  were  rather  more  depressingly 


58  A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS. 

gaudy  than  elsewhere  in  Gorman ville ;  but  I  believe 
they  were  only  thicker.  I  found  Glendenning  in  his 
study,  and  he  was  so  far  from  being  east  down  by 
their  blazon  that  I  thought  him  decidedly  cheerfuller 
than  when  I  saw  him  last.  He  met  me  with  what  for 
him  was  ardor ;  and  as  he  had  asked  me  most  cordially 
about  my  family,  I  thought  it  fit  to  inquire  how  the 
ladies  at  the  Bentley  place  were. 

"  Why,  very  well,  very  well  indeed,"  he  answered, 
brightly.  "  It's  very  odd,  but  Edith  and  I  were  talk 
ing  about  you  all  only  last  night,  and  wishing  we  could 
see  you  again.  Edith  is  most  uncommonly  well. 
During  the  summer  Mrs.  Bentley  had  some  rather 
severer  attacks  than  usual,  and  the  care  and  anxiety 
told  upon  Edith,  but  since  the  cooler  weather  has 
come  she  has  picked  up  wonderfully."  He  did  not 
say  that  Mrs.  Bentley  had  shared  this  gain,  and  I  im 
agined  that  he  had  a  reluctance  to  confess  she  had 
not.  He  went  on,  "  You're  going  to  stay  and  spend 
the  night  with  me,  aren't  you  ? " 

"  No,"  I  said ;  "  I'm  obliged  to  be  off  by  the  four- 
o'clock  train.  But  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  name  the 
hospitality  I  could  accept,  I  should  say  luncheon." 

"  Good  !  "  cried  Glendenning,  gayly.  "  Let  us  go 
and  have  it  at  the  Bentleys'." 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS.  59 

"  Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  where  you  shall  lunch 
me,"  I  returned.  "The  question  isn't  where,  but 
when  and  how,  with  me." 

He  got  his  hat  and  stick,  and  as  we  started  out  of 
his  door  he  began :  "  You'll  be  a  little  surprised  at  the 
informality,  perhaps,  but  I'm  glad  you  take  it  so  easily. 
It  makes  it  easier  for  me  to  explain  that  I'm  almost 
domesticated  at  the  Bentley  homestead :  I  come  and 
go  very  much  as  if  it  were  my  own  house." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  I  said,  "  I'm  not  surprised  at 
anything  in  your  relation  to  the  Bentley  homestead, 
and  I  won't  vex  you  with  any  glad  inferences." 

"  Why,"  he  returned,  a  little  bashfully,  "there's  no 
explicit  change.  The  affair  is  just  where  it  has  been 
all  along.  But  with  the  gradual  decline  in  Mrs.  Bent- 
ley — I'm  afraid  you'll  notice  it — she  seems  rather  to 
want  me  about,  and  at  times  I'm  able  to  be  of  use  to 
Edith,  and  so — " 

He  stopped,  and  I  said,  "  Exactly." 

He  went  on :  "Of  course  it's  rather  anomalous,  and 
I  oughtn't  to  let  you  get  the  impression  that  she  has 
actually  conceded  anything.  But  she  shows  herself 
much  more — er,  shall  I  say  ? — affectionate,  and  I  can't 
help  hoping  there  may  be  a  change  in  her  mood  which 
will  declare  itself  in  an  attitude  more  favorable  to — " 


60  A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS. 

I  said  again,  "Exactly,"  and  Glendenning  resumed: 

"  In  spite  of  Edith's  not  having  been  quite  so  well 
as  usual — she's  wonderfully  well  now — it's  been  a  very 
happy  summer  with  us,  on  account  of  this  change. 
It  seems  to  have  come  about  in  a  very  natural  way 
with  Mrs.  Bentley,  and  out  of  a  growing  regard  which 
I  can't  specifically  account  for,  as  far  as  anything  I've 
done  is  concerned." 

"  I  think  I  could  account  for  it,"  said  I.  "  She 
must  be  a  stonier-hearted  old  lady  than  I  imagine  if 
she  hasn't  felt  your  goodness,  all  along,  Glendenning." 

"  Why,  you're  very  kind,"  said  the  gentle  creature. 
"  You  tempt  me  to  repeat  what  she  said,  at  the  only 
time  she  expressed  a  wish  to  have  me  oftener  with 
them  :  '  You've  been  very  patient  with  a  contrary  old 
woman.  But  I  sha'n't  make  you  wait  much  longer.'  " 

"  Well,  I  think  that  was  very  encouraging,  my  dear 
fellow." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  he  asked,  wistfully.  "  I  thought  so 
too,  at  first,  but  when  I  told  Edith  she  could  not  take 
that  view  of  it.  She  said  that  she  did  not  believe  her 
mother  had  changed  her  mind  at  all,  and  that  she  only 
meant  she  was  growing  older." 

"  But,  at  any  rate,"  I  argued,  "  it  was  pleasant  to 
have  her  make  an  open  recognition  of  your  patience." 


A    PAIR   OF   PATIENT   LOVERS.  61 

"  Yes,  that  was  pleasant,"  he  said,  cheerfully  again. 
"  And  it  was  the  beginning  of  the  kind  of  relation 
that  I  have  held  ever  since  to  her  household.  I  am 
afraid  I  am  there  a  good  half  of  my  time,  and  I  be 
lieve  I  dine  there  oftener  than  I  do  at  home.  I  am 
quite  on  the  footing  of  a  son,  with  her." 

"  There  are  some  of  the  unregenerate,  Glendenning," 
I  made  bold  to  say,  "  who  think  it  is  your  own  fault 
that  you  weren't  on  the  footing  of  a  son-in-law  with 
her  long  ago.  If  you'll  excuse  my  saying  so,  you 
have  been,  if  anything,  too  patient.  It  would  have 
been  far  better  for  all  if  you  had  taken  the  bit  in  your 
teeth  six  or  seven  years  back — " 

He  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  It  wouldn't  have  done ; 
it  wouldn't  have  done  !  Edith  herself  would  never 
have  consented  to  it." 

"  Did  you  ever  ask  her  ? " 

"  No,"  he  said,  innocently.     "  How  could  I  ? " 

"  And  of  course  she  could  never  ask  you"  I  laughed. 
"  My  opinion  is  that  you  have  lost  a  great  deal  of  time 
unnecessarily.  I  haven't  the  least  doubt  that  if  you 
had  brought  a  little  pressure  to  bear  with  Mrs.  Bent- 
ley  herself,  it  would  have  sufficed." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  kind  of  dismay,  as  if  my 
words  had  carried  conviction,  or  had  roused  a  convic- 


62  A   PAIR   OF    PATIENT    LOVERS. 

tion  long  dormant  in  his  heart.  "  It  wouldn't  have 
done,"  he  gasped. 

"  It  isn't  too  late  to  try,  yet,"  I  suggested. 

"  Yes,  it's  too  late.  We  must  wait  now."  He  has 
tened  to  add,  "  Until  she  yields  entirely  of  herself." 

He  gave  me  a  guilty  glance  when  he  drew  near  the 
Bentley  place  and  we  saw  a  buggy  standing  at  the 
gate.  "  The  doctor !  "  he  said,  and  he  hurried  me  up 
the  walk  to  the  door. 

The  door  stood  open  and  we  heard  the  doctor  say 
ing  to  some  one  within :  "  No,  no,  nothing  organic  at 
all,  I  assure  you.  One  of  the  commonest  functional 
disturbances." 

Miss  Bentley  appeared  at  the  threshold  with  him, 
and  she  and  Glendenning  had  time  to  exchange  a 
glance  of  anxiety  and  of  smiling  reassurance,  before 
she  put  out  her  hand  in  greeting  to  me,  a  very  glad 
and  cordial  greeting,  apparently.  The  doctor  and  I 
shook  hands,  and  he  got  himself  away  with  what  I 
afterwards  remembered  as  undue  quickness,  and  left 
us  to  Miss  Bentley. 

Glendenning  was  quite  right  about  her  looking  bet 
ter.  She  looked  even  gay,  and  there  was  a  vivid  color 
in  her  cheeks  such  as  I  had  not  seen  there  for  many 
years ;  her  lips  were  red,  her  eyes  brilliant.  Her  face 


A   PAIR   OF    PATIENT   LOVERS.  63 

was  still  perhaps  as  thin  as  ever,  but  it  was  indescrib 
ably  younger. 

I  cannot  say  that  there  were  the  materials  of  a 
merrymaking  amongst  us,  exactly,  and  yet  I  remem 
ber  that  luncheon  as  rather  a  gay  one,  with  some 
laughing.  I  had  not  been  till  now  in  discovering  that 
Miss  Bentley  had  a  certain  gift  of  humor,  so  shy  and 
proud,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  that  it  would  not  show 
itself  except  upon  long  acquaintance,  and  I  distinctly 
perceived  now  that  this  enabled  her  to  make  light  of 
a  burden  that  might  otherwise  have  been  intolerable. 
It  qualified  her  to  treat  with  cheerfulness  the  grimness 
of  her  mother,  which  had  certainly  not  grown  less 
since  I  saw  her  last,  and  to  turn  into  something  like  a 
joke  her  valetudinarian  austerities  of  sentiment  and 
opinion.  She  made  a  pleasant  mock  of  the  amenities 
which  passed  between  her  mother  and  Glendenning, 
whose  gingerliness  in  the  acceptance  of  the  old  lady's 
condescension  would,  I  confess,  have  been  notably 
comical  without  this  gloss.  It  was  perfectly  evident 
that  Mrs.  Bentley's  favor  was  bestowed  with  a  mental 
reservation,  and  conditioned  upon  his  forming  no  ex 
pectations  from  it,  and  poor  Glendenning's  eagerness 
to  show  that  he  took  it  upon  these  terms  was  amusing 
as  well  as  touching.  I  do  not  know  how  to  express 


64  A    PAIR   OF    PATIENT    LOVERS. 

that  Miss  Bentley  contrived  to  eliminate  herself  from 
the  affair,  or  to  have  the  effect  of  doing  that,  and  to 
abandon  it  to  them.  I  can  only  say  that  she  left  them 
to  be  civil  to  each  other,  and  that,  except  when  she 
recurred  to  them  in  playful  sarcasm  from  time  to  time, 
she  devoted  herself  to  me. 

Evidently,  Mrs.  Bentley  was  very  much  worse  than 
she  had  been;  her  breathing  was  painfully  labored. 
But  if  her  daughter  had  any  anxiety  about  her  condi 
tion,  she  concealed  it  most  effectually  from  us.  I 
decided  that  she  had  perhaps  been  asking  the  doctor 
as  to  certain  symptoms  that  had  alarmed  her,  and  it 
was  in  the  rebound  from  her  anxiety  that  her  spirits 
had  risen  to  the  height  I  saw.  Glendenning  seized 
the  moment  of  her  absence  after  luncheon,  when  she 
helped  her  mother  up  to  her  room,  to  impart  to  me 
that  this  was  his  conclusion  too.  He  said  that  he  had 
not  seen  her  so  cheerful  for  a  long  time,  and  when  I 
praised  her  in  every  way  he  basked  in  my  appreciation 
of  her  as  if  it  had  all  been  flattery  for  himself.  She 
came  back  directly,  and  then  I  had  a  chance  to  see 
what  she  might  have  been  under  happier  stars.  She 
could  not,  at  any  moment,  help  showing  herself  an  in 
tellectual  and  cultivated  woman,  but  her  opportunities 
to  show  herself  a  woman  of  rare  social  gifts  had  been 


A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS.  65 

scanted  by  circumstances  and  perhaps  by  conscience. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  even  in  devoting  herself  to  her 
mother  as  she  had  always  done  she  need  not  have  en 
slaved  herself,  and  that  it  was  in  this  excess  her  in 
herited  puritanism  came  out.  She  might  sometimes 
openly  rebel  against  her  mother's  domination,  as  my 
wife  and  I  had  now  and  again  seen  her  do ;  but  in 
wardly  she  was  almost  passionately  submissive.  Here 
I  thought  that  Glendcnning,  if  he  had  been  a  different 
sort  of  man,  might  have  been  useful  to  her ;  he  might 
have  encouraged  her  in  a  little  wholesome  selfishness, 
and  enabled  her  to  withhold  sacrifice  where  it  was 
needless.  But  I  am  not  sure  ;  perhaps  he  would  have 
made  her  more  unhappy,  if  he  had  attempted  this ; 
perhaps  he  was  the  only  sort  of  man  whom,  in  her 
sense  of  his  own  utter  unselfishness,  she  could  have 
given  her  heart  to  in  perfect  peace.  She  now  talked 
brilliantly  and  joyously  to  me,  but  all  the  time  her 
eye  sought  his  for  his  approval  and  sympathy ;  he,  for 
his  part,  was  content  to  listen  in  a  sort  of  beatific  pride 
in  her  which  he  did  not,  in  his  simple-hearted  fond 
ness,  make  any  effort  to  mask. 

When  we  came  away  he  made  himself  amends  for 
his  silence  by  a  long  hymn  in  worship  of  her,  and  I 
listened  with  all  the  acquiescence  possible.     He  asked 
E 


66  A   PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS. 

me  questions — whether  I  had  noticed  this  thing  or 
that  about  her,  or  remembered  what  she  had  said  upon 
one  point  or  another,  and  led  up  to  compliments  of 
her  which  I  was  glad  to  pay.  In  the  long  ordeal  they 
had  undergone  they  had  at  least  kept  all  the  freshness 
of  their  love. 


XIII. 

GLENDENNING  and  I  went  back  to  the  rectory,  and 
sat  down  in  his  study,  or  rather  he  made  me  draw  a 
chair  to  the  open  door,  and  sat  down  himself  on  a  step 
below  the  threshold.  The  day  was  one  of  autumnal 
warmth  ;  the  haze  of  Indian  summer  blued  the  still 
air,  and  the  wind  that  now  and  then  stirred  the  stiff 
panoply  of  the  trees  was  lullingly  soft.  This  part  of 
Gormanville  quite  overlooked  the  busier  district  about 
the  mills,  where  the  water-power  found  its  way,  and 
it  was  something  of  a  climb  even  from  the  business 
street  of  the  old  hill  village,  which  the  rival  prosperity 
of  the  industrial  settlement  in  the  valley  had  thrown 
into  an  aristocratic  aloofness.  From  the  upper  win 
dows  of  the  rectory  one  could  have  seen  only  the  red 
and  yellow  of  the  maples,  but  from  the  study  door  we 
caught  glimpses  past  their  boles  of  the  outlying  coun 
try,  as  it  showed  between  the  white  mansions  across 


68  A    PAIR   OF   PATIENT    LOVERS. 

the  way.  One  of  these,  as  I  have  already  mentioned, 
was  the  Con  well  place  ;  and  after  we  had  talked  of  the 
landscape  awhile,  Glendenning  said :  "  By  the  way  ! 
Why  don't  you  buy  the  Conwell  place  ?  You  liked 
it  so  much,  and  you  were  all  so  well  in  Gormanville. 
The  Conwells  want  to  sell  it,  and  it  would  be  just  the 
thing  for  you,  five  or  six  months  of  the  year." 

I  explained,  almost  compassionately,  the  impossi 
bility  of  a  poor  insurance  man  thinking  of  a  summer 
residence  like  the  Conwell  place,  and  I  combated  as 
well  as  I  could  the  optimistic  reasons  of  my  friend  in 
its  favor.  I  was  not  very  severe  with  him,  for  I  saw 
that  his  optimism  was  not  so  much  from  his  wish  to 
have  me  live  in  Gormanville  as  from  the  new  hope 
that  filled  him.  It  was  by  a  perfectly  natural,  if  not 
very  logical  transition  that  we  were  presently  talking 
of  this  greater  interest  again,  and  Glendenning  was 
going  over  all  the  plans  that  it  included.  I  encour 
aged  him  to  believe,  as  he  desired,  that  a  sea-voyage 
would  be  the  thing  for  Mrs.  Bentley,  and  that  it  would 
be  his  duty  to  take  her  to  Europe  as  soon  as  he  was 
in  authority  to  do  so.  They  should  always,  he  said, 
live  in  Gormanville,  for  they  were  greatly  attached  to 
the  place,  and  they  should  keep  up  the  old  Bentley 
homestead  in  the  style  that  he  thought  they  owed  to 


A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT   LOVERS.  69 

the  region  where  the  Bentleys  had  always  lived.  It 
is  a  comfort  to  a  man  to  tell  his  dreams,  whether  of 
the  night  or  of  the  day,  and  I  enjoyed  Glendenning's 
pleasure  in  rehearsing  these  fond  reveries  of  his. 

He  interrupted  himself  to  listen  to  the  sound  of 
hurried  steps,  and  directly  a  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves 
came  running  by  on  the  sidewalk  beyond  the  maples. 
In  a  village  like  Gormanville  any  passer  is  of  interest 
to  the  spectator,  and  a  man  running  is  of  thrilling 
moment.  Glendenning  started  to  his  feet,  and  moved 
forward  for  a  better  sight  of  the  flying  passer.  He 
called  out  to  the  man,  who  shouted  back  something  1 
could  not  understand,  and  ran  on. 

"  What  did  he  say  ? " 

"  I  don't  know."  Glendenning's  face  as  he  turned 
to  me  again  was  quite  white.  "  It  is  Mrs.  Bentley's 
farmer,"  he  added,  feebly,  and  I  could  see  that  it  was 
with  an  effort  he  kept  himself  from  sinking.  "  Some 
thing  has  happened." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  not,  or  not  anything  serious,"  I  an 
swered,  with  an  effort  to  throw  off  the  weight  I  sud 
denly  felt  at  my  own  heart.  "  People  have  been 
known  to  run  for  a  plumber.  But  if  you're  anxious, 
let  us  go  and  see  what  the  matter  is." 

I  turned  and  got  my  hat;  Glendenning  came  in  for 


TO  A   PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS. 

his,  but  seemed  unable  to  find  it,  though  he  stood 
before  the  table  where  it  lay.  I  had  to  laugh,  though 
I  felt  so  little  like  it,  as  I  put  it  in  his  hand. 

"Don't  leave  me,"  he  entreated,  as  we  hurried  out 
through  the  maples  to  the  sidewalk.  "  It  has  come 
at  last,  and  I  feel,  as  I  always  knew  I  should,  like  a 
murderer." 

"  What  rubbish  !  "  I  retorted.  "  You  don't  know 
that  anything  has  happened.  You  don't  know  what 
the  man's  gone  for." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  he  said.  "  Mrs.  Bentley  is—  He's 
gone  for  the  doctor." 

As  he  spoke  a  buggy  came  tearing  down  the  street 
behind  us ;  the  doctor  was  in  it,  and  the  man  in  shirt 
sleeves  beside  him.  We  did  not  try  to  hail  them,  but 
as  they  whirled  by  the  farmer  turned  his  face,  and 
again  called  something  unintelligible  to  Glendenning. 

We  made  what  speed  we  could  after  them,  but  they 
were  long  out  of  sight  in  the  mile  that  it  seemed  to 
me  we  were  an  hour  in  covering  before  we  reached 
the  Bentley  place.  The  doctor's  buggy  stood  at  the 
gate,  and  I  perceived  that  I  was  without  authority  to 
enter  the  house,  on  which  some  unknown  calamity 
had  fallen,  no  matter  with  what  good- will  I  had  come ; 
I  could  see  that  Glendenning  had  suffered  a  sudden 


A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT    LOVERS.  71 

estrangement,  also,  which  he  had  to  make  a  struggle 
against.  But  he  went  in,  leaving  me  without,  as  if 
he  had  forgotten  me. 

I  could  not  go  away,  and  I  walked  down  the  path 
to  the  gate,  and  waited  there,  in  case  I  should  be  in 
any  wise  wanted.  After  a  very  long  time  the  doctor 
came  bolting  over  the  walk  towards  me,  as  if  he  did 
not  see  me,  but  he  brought  himself  up  short  with  an 
"  Oh  ! "  before  he  actually  struck  against  me.  I  had 
known  him  during  our  summer  at  the  Conwell  place, 
where  we  used  to  have  him  in  for  our  little  ailments, 
and  I  would  never  have  believed  that  his  round,  opti 
mistic  face  could  look  so  worried.  I  read  the  worst 
in  it ;  Glendenning  was  right ;  but  I  asked  the  doctor, 
quite  as  if  I  did  not  know,  whether  there  was  anything 
serious  the  matter. 

"  Serious — yes,"  he  said.  "  Get  in  with  me ;  I  have 
to  see  another  patient,  but  I'll  bring  you  back."  We 
mounted  into  his  buggy,  and  he  went  on.  "  She's  in 
no  immediate  danger,  now.  The  faint  lasted  so  long 
I  didn't  know  whether  we  should  bring  her  out  of  it, 
at  one  time,  but  the  most  alarming  part  is  over  for  the 
present.  There  is  some  trouble  with  the  heart,  but  I 
don't  think  anything  organic." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  you  telling  her  daughter  so,  just  be- 


72  A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS. 

fore   lunch.       Isn't  it  a  frequent   complication  with 
asthma  ? " 

"  Asthma  ?     Her  daughter  ?     Whom  are  you  talk 
ing  about  ? " 

"  Mrs.  Bentley.     Isn't  Mrs.  Bentley — " 
"  No ! "  shouted    the  doctor,  in    disgust.      "  Mrs. 
Bentley  is  as  well  as  ever.    It's  Miss  Bentley.    I  wish 
there  was  a  thousandth  part  of  the  chance  for  her  that 
there  is  for  her  mother." 


XIV. 

I  STAYED  over  for  the  last  train  to  Boston,  and  then 
I  had  to  go  home  without  the  hope  which  Miss  Bent- 
ley's  first  rally  had  given  the  doctor.  My  wife  and  I 
talked  the  affair  over  far  into  the  night,  and  in  the 
paucity  of  particulars  I  was  almost  driven  to  their  in 
vention.  But  I  managed  to  keep  a  good  conscience, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  satisfy  the  demand  for  facts 
in  a  measure  by  the  indulgence  of  conjectures  which 
Mrs.  March  continually  took  for  them.  The  doctor 
had  let  fall,  in  his  talk  with  me,  that  he  had  no  doubt 
Miss  Bentley  had  aggravated  the  affection  of  the  heart 
from  which  she  was  suffering  by  her  exertions  in  lift 
ing  her  mother  about  so  much ;  and  my  wife  said  that 
it  needed  only  that  touch  to  make  the  tragedy  com 
plete. 

"Unless,"  I  suggested,  "you  could  add  that  her 
mother  had  just  told  her  she  would  not  oppose  her 
marriage  any  longer,  and  it  was  the  joy  that  brought 
on  the  access  of  the  trouble  that  is  killing  her." 


74  A   PAIR   OF   PATIENT    LOVERS. 

"  Did  the  doctor  say  that  ? "  Mrs.  March  demanded, 
severely. 

"  No.  And  I  haven't  the  least  notion  that  anything 
like  it  happened.  But  if  it  had — " 

"  It  would  have  been  too  tawdry.  I'm  ashamed  of 
you  for  thinking  of  such  a  thing,  Basil." 

Upon  reflection,  I  was  rather  ashamed  myself ;  but 
I  plucked  up  courage  to  venture:  "  It  would  be  rather 
fine,  wouldn't  it,  when  that  poor  girl  is  gone,  if  Mrs. 
Bentley  had  Glendenning  come  and  live  with  her,  and 
they  devoted  themselves  to  each  other  for  her  daugh 
ter's  sake  ? " 

"Fine!  It  would  be  ghastly.  What  are  you 
thinking  of,  my  dear  ?  How  would  it  be  fine  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  mean  dramatically,"  I  apologized,  and,  not 
to  make  bad  worse,  I  said  no  more. 

The  next  day,  which  was  Sunday,  a  telegram  came 
for  me,  which  I  decided,  without  opening  it,  to  be  the 
announcement  of  the  end.  But  it  proved  to  be  a  mes 
sage  from  Mrs.  Bentley,  begging  in  most  urgent  terms 
that  Mrs.  March  and  I  would  come  to  her  at  once,  if 
possible.  These  terms  left  the  widest  latitude  for 
surmise,  but  none  for  choice,  in  the  sad  circumstances, 
and  we  looked  up  the  Sunday  trains  for  Gormanville, 
and  went. 


A   PAIR   OP   PATIENT   LOVERS.  75 

We  found  the  poor  woman  piteously  grateful,  but 
by  no  means  so  prostrated  as  we  had  expected.  She 
was  rather,  as  often  happens,  stayed  and  held  upright 
by  the  burden  that  had  been  laid  upon  her,  and  it  was 
with  fortitude  if  not  dignity  that  she  appealed  to  us 
for  our  counsel,  and  if  possible  our  help,  in  a  matter 
about  which  she  had  already  consulted  the  doctor. 
"  The  doctor  says  that  the  excitement  cannot  hurt 
Edith ;  it  may  even  help  her,  to  propose  it.  I  should 
like  to  do  it,  but  if  you  do  not  think  well  of  it,  I 
will  not  do  it.  I  know  it  is  too  late  now  to  make 
up  to  her  for  the  past,"  said  Mrs.  Bentley,  and  here 
she  gave  way  to  the  grief  she  had  restrained  hitherto. 

"  There  is  no  one  else,"  she  went  on,  "  who  has 
been  so  intimately  acquainted  with  the  facts  of  my 
daughter's  engagement — no  one  else  that  I  can  con 
fide  in  or  appeal  to." 

We  both  murmured  that  she  was  very  good ;  but 
she  put  our  politeness  somewhat  peremptorily  aside. 

"  It  is  the  only  thing  I  can  do  now,  and  it  is  useless 
to  do  that  now.  It  will  be  no  reparation  for  the  past, 
and  it  will  be  for  myself  and  not  for  her,  as  all  that  I 
have  done  in  the  past  has  been ;  but  I  wish  to  know 
what  you  think  of  their  getting  married  now." 

I  am  afraid  that  if  we  had  said  what  we  thought  of 


76  A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS. 

such  a  tardy  and  futile  proof  of  penitence  we  should 
have  brought  little  comfort  to  the  mother's  heart,  but 
we  looked  at  each  other  in  the  disgust  we  both  felt 
and  said  there  would  be  a  sacred  fitness  in  it. 

She  was  apparently  much  consoled. 

It  was  touching  enough,  and  I  at  least  was  affected 
by  her  tears ;  I  am  not  so  sure  my  wife  was.  But  she 
had  instantly  to  consider  how  best  to  propose  th*» 
matter  to  Miss  Bentley,  and  to  act  upon  her  de 
cision. 

After  all,  as  she  reported  the  fact  to  me  later,  it 
was  very  simple  to  suggest  her  mother's  wish  to  the 
girl,  who  listened  to  it  with  a  perfect  intelligence  in 
which  there  was  no  bitterness. 

"  They  think  I  am  going  to  die,"  she  said,  quietly, 
"  and  I  can  understand  how  she  feels.  It  seems  such 
a  mockery ;  but  if  she  wishes  it ;  and  Arthur — " 

It  was  my  part  to  deal  with  Glendenning,  and  I  did 
not  find  it  so  easy. 

"  Marriage  is  for  life  and  for  earth,"  he  said,  sol 
emnly,  and  I  thought  very  truly.  "  In  the  resurrection 
we  shall  be  one  another's  without  it.  I  don't  like  to 
go  through  the  form  of  such  a  sacrament  idly ;  it 
seems  like  a  profanation  of  its  mystery." 

"  But  if  Miss  Bentley—" 


A    PAIR    OF    PATIENT    LOVERS  77 

"  She  will  think  whatever  I  do  ;  I  shall  feel  as  she 
does,"  he  answered,  with  dignity. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  I  urged.  "  It  would  not  be  for 
her ;  it  would  not  certainly  be  for  yourself.  But  if 
you  could  see  it  as  the  only  form  of  reparation  which 
her  mother  can  now  offer  you  both,  and  the  only  mode 
of  expressing  your  own  forgiveness —  Recollect  how 
you  felt  when  you  thought  that  it  was  Mrs.  Bentley's 
death  ;  try  to  recall  something  of  that  terrible  time — " 

"I  don't  forget  that,"  he  relented.  "It  was  in 
mercy  to  Edith  and  me  that  our  trial  is  what  it  is :  we 
have  recognized  that  in  the  face  of  eternity.  I  can 
forgive  anything  in  gratitude  for  that." 

I  have  often  had  to  criticise  life  for  a  certain  caprice 
with  which  she  treats  the  elements  of  drama,  and  mars 
the  finest  conditions  of  tragedy  with  a  touch  of  farce. 
No  one  who  witnessed  the  marriage  of  Arthur  Glen- 
denning  and  Edith  Bentley  had  any  belief  that  she 
would  survive  it  twenty-four  hours ;  they  themselves 
were  wholly  without  hope  in  the  moment  which  for 
happier  lovers  is  all  hope.  To  me  it  was  like  a  fu 
neral,  but  then  most  weddings  are  rather  ghastly  to 
look  upon;  and  the  stroke  that  life  had  in  reserve 
psrhaps  finally  restored  the  lost  balance  of  gayety  in 


78  A   PAIR    OF   PATIENT    LOVERS. 

this.  At  any  rate,  Mrs.  Glendenning  did  live,  and 
she  is  living  yet,  and  in  rather  more  happiness  than 
comes  to  most  people  under  brighter  auspices.  After 
long  contention  among  many  doctors,  the  original 
opinion  that  her  heart  trouble  was  functional,  not  or 
ganic,  has  been  elected  final,  and  upon  these  terms 
she  bids  fair  to  live  as  long  as  any  of  us. 

I  do  not  know  whether  she  will  live  as  long  as  her 
mother,  who  seems  to  have  taken  a  fresh  lease  of  years 
from  her  single  act  of  self-sacrifice.  I  cannot  say 
whether  Mrs.  Bentley  feels  herself  deceived  and  de 
frauded  by  her  daughter's  recovery ;  but  I  have  made 
my  wife  observe  that  it  would  be  just  like  life  if  she 
bore  the  young  couple  a  sort  of  grudge  for  unwittingly 
outwitting  her.  Certainly,  on  the  day  we  lately  spent 
with  them  all  at  Gormanville,  she  seemed,  in  the  slight 
attack  of  asthma  from  which  she  suffered,  to  come  as 
heavily  and  exactingly  upon  both  as  she  used  to  come 
upon  her  daughter  alone.  But  I  was  glad  to  see  that 
Glendenning  eagerly  bore  the  greater  part  of  the  com 
mon  burden.  He  grows  stouter  and  stouter,  and  will 
soon  be  the  figure  of  a  bishop. 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  THE  PIANO. 


HAMILTON  GAITES  sat  breakfasting  by  the  window 
of  a  restaurant  looking  out  on  Park  Square,  in  Boston, 
at  a  table  which  he  had  chosen  after  rejecting  one  on 
the  Boylston  Street  side  of  the  place  because  it  was 
too  noisy,  and  another  in  the  little  open  space,  among 
evergreens  in  tubs,  between  the  front  and  rear,  be 
cause  it  was  too  chilly.  The  wind  was  east,  but  at 
his  Park  Square  window  it  tempered  the  summer 
morning  air  without  being  a  draught;  and  he  poured 
out  his  coffee  with  a  content  in  his  circumstance  and 
provision  which  he  was  apt  to  feel  when  he  had  taken 
all  the  possible  pains,  even  though  the  result  was  not 
perfect.  But  now,  he  had  real  French  bread,  as  good 
as  he  could  have  got  in  New  York,  and  the  coffee  was 
clear  and  bright.  A  growth  of  crisp  green  water 
cress  embowered  a  juicy  steak,  and  in  its  shade,  as  it 


80  THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO. 

were,  lay  two  long  slices  of  bacon,  not  stupidly 
broiled  to  a  crisp,  but  delicately  pink,  and  exempla- 
rily  lean.  Gaites  had  already  had  a  cantaloupe,  whose 
spicy  fragrance  lingered  in  the  air  and  mingled  with 
the  robuster  odors  of  the  coffee,  the  steak,  and  the 
bacon. 

He  owned  to  being  a  fuss,  but  he  contended  that 
he  was  a  cheerful  fuss,  and  when  things  went  reason 
ably  well  with  him,  he  was  so.  They  were  going  well 
with  him  now,  not  only  in  the  small  but  in  the  large 
way.  He  was  sitting  there  before  that  capital  break 
fast  in  less  than  half  an  hour  after  leaving  the  sleep 
ing-car,  where  he  had  passed  a  very  good  night,  and 
he  was  setting  out  on  his  vacation,  after  very  successful 
work  in  the  June  term  of  court.  He  was  in  prime 
health ;  he  had  a  good  conscience  in  leaving  no  inter 
ests  behind  him  that  could  suffer  in  his  absence;  and 
the  smile  that  he  bent  upon  the  Italian  waiter  as  he 
retired,  after  putting  down  the  breakfast,  had  some 
elements  of  a  benediction. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  Gaites's  smile,  when  it 
was  all  on:  he  had  a  generous  mouth,  full  of  hand 
some  teeth,  very  white  and  even,  which  all  showed  in 
his  smile.  His  whole  face  took  part  in  the  smile,  and 
it  was  a  charming  face,  long  and  rather  quaintly  nar- 


THE   PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  81 

row,  of  an  amiable  aquilinity,  and  clean-shaven.  His 
figure,  tall  and  thin,  comported  well  with  his  style  of 
visage,  and  at  a  given  moment,  when  he  suddenly 
rose  and  leaned  from  the  window,  eagerly  following 
something  outside  with  his  eye,  he  had  an  alert  move 
ment  that  was  very  pleasant. 

The  thing  outside  which  had  caught,  and  which 
now  kept,  his  eye  as  long  as  he  could  see  it,  was  a 
case  in  the  shape  of  an  upright  piano,  on  the  end  of 
a  long,  heavy-laden  truck,  making  its  way  with  a 
slow,  jolting  progress  among  the  carts,  carriages,  and 
street  cars,  out  of  the  square  round  the  corner  toward 
Boylston  Street.  On  the  sloping  front  of  the  case 
was  inscribed  an  address,  which  seemed  to  gaze  at 
Gaites  with  the  eyes  of  the  girl  whom  it  named  and 
placed,  and  to  whom  in  the  young  man's  willing  fancy 
it  attributed  a  charming  quality.  Nothing,  he  felt, 
could  be  more  suggestive,  more  expressive  of  some 
thing  shy,  something  proud,  something  pure,  some 
thing  pastoral  yet  patrician,  something  unaffected  and 
yet  chicj  in  an  unknown  personality,  than  the  legend: 
Miss  PHYLLIS  DESMOND, 

LOWER  MERRITT, 

NEW  HAMPSHIRE. 
ria  S.  B.  &  H.  C.  R.  R. 
E 


82  THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE   PIANO. 

Like  most  lawyers,  he  had  a  vein  of  romance,  and 
this  now  opened  in  pleasing  conjectures  concerning 
the  girl.  He  knew  just  where  Lower  Merritt  was, 
and  so  well  what  it  was  like  that  a  vision  of  its  white 
paint  against  the  dark  green  curtain  of  the  wooded 
heights  around  it  filled  his  sense  as  agreeably  as  so 
much  white  marble.  There  was  the  cottage  of  some 
summer  people  well  above  the  village  level,  among 
pines  and  birches,  and  overlooking  the  foamiest  rush 
of  the  Saco,  to  which  he  instantly  destined  the  piano 
of  Phyllis  Desmond.  He  had  never  known  that  these 
people's  name  was  Desmond,  and  he  had  certainly 
never  supposed  that  they  had  a  daughter  called  Phyl 
lis;  but  he  divined  these  facts  in  losing  sight  of  the 
truck;  and  he  imagined  with  as  logical  probability 
that  one  of  the  little  girls  whom  he  used  to  see  play 
ing  on  the  hill-slope  before  the  cottage  had  grown  up 
into  the  young  lady  whose  name  the  piano  bore. 
There  was  quite  time  enough  for  this  transformation; 
it  was  seven  years  since  Gaites  had  run  up  into  the 
White  Mountains  for  a  month's  rest  after  his  last 
term  in  the  Harvard  Law  School,  and  before  begin 
ning  work  in  the  office  of  the  law  firm  in  New  York 
where  he  had  got  a  clerkship,  and  where  he  had  now 
a  junior  partnership.  The  little  girl  was  then  just  ten 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  83 

years  old,  and  now,  of  course,  the  young  lady  was 
seventeen,  or  would  be  when  the  piano  reached  Lower 
Merritt,  for  it  was  clearly  meant  to  arrive  on  her 
birthday;  it  was  a  birthday -pre  sent  and  a  surprise. 
He  had  always  liked  the  way  those  nice  people  let 
their  children  play  about  barefoot;  it  would  be  in 
character  with  them  to  do  a  fond,  pretty  thing  like 
that ;  and  Gaites  smiled  for  pleasure  in  it,  and  then 
rather  blushed  in  relating  the  brown  legs  of  the  little 
girl,  as  he  remembered  seeing  them  in  her  races  over 
her  father's  lawn,  to  the  dignified  young  lady  she  had 
now  become. 

He  amused  himself  in  mentally  following  the  piano 
on  its  way  to  the  Sea  Board  &  Hill  Country  R.  R. 
freight-depot,  which  he  was  quite  able  to  do  from  a 
habit  of  Boston  formed  during  his  four  years  in  the 
academic  course  and  his  three  years  in  the  law-school 
at  Harvard.  He  knew  that  it  would  cross  Boylston 
into  Charles  Street,  and  keep  along  that  level  to  Cam 
bridge  ;  then  it  would  turn  into  McLane  Street,  and 
again  into  Lynde,  by  this  means  avoiding  the  grades 
as  much  as  possible,  aud  arriving  through  Causeway 
Street  at  the  long,  low  freight-depot  of  the  S.  B.  <fe 
H.  C.,  where  it  would  be  the  first  thing  unloaded 
from  the  truck.  It  would  stand  indefinitely  on  the 


84  THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE   PIANO. 

outer  platform ;  and  then,  when  the  men  in  flat,  nar 
row-peaked  silk  caps  and  grease-splotched  overalls 
got  round  to  it,  with  an  air  of  as  much  personal  in 
difference  as  if  they  were  mere  mechanical  agencies, 
it  would  be  pulled  and  pushed  into  the  dimness  of 
the  interior,  cool,  and  pleasantly  smelling  of  pine,  and 
hemp,  and  flour,  and  dried  fruit,  and  coffee,  and  tar, 
and  leather,  and  fish.  There  it  would  abide,  indef 
initely  again,  till  in  the  same  large  impersonal  way  it 
was  pulled  and  pushed  out  on  the  platform  beside  the 
track,  where  a  freight-car  marked  for  the  Hill  Country 
division  of  the  road,  with  devices  intelligible  to  the 
train-men,  had  been  shunted  down  by  a  pony  engine 
in  obedience  to  mystical  semaphoric  gesticulations, 
from  the  brakeman  risking  his  life  for  the  purpose 
among  the  rails,  addressed  to  the  engineer  keeping 
his  hand  on  the  pulse  of  the  locomotive,  and  his  head 
out  of  the  cab  window  to  see  how  near  he  could  come 
to  killing  the  brakeman  without  doing  it. 

Gaites  witnessed  the  whole  drama  with  an  interest 
that  held  him  suspended  between  the  gulps  and  mor 
sels  of  his  breakfast,  and  at  times  quite  arrested  the 
processes  of  mastication  and  deglutition.  That  pretty 
girl's  name  on  the  slope  of  the  piano-case  continued 
to  look  at  him  from  the  end  of  the  truck ;  it  smiled 


THE    PURSUIT    OF   THE    PIANO.  85 

at  him  from  the  outer  platform  of  the  freight-house ; 
it  entreated  him  with  a  charming  trepidation  from  the 
dim  interior ;  again  it  smiled  on  the  inner  platform ; 
and  then,  from  the  safety  of  the  car,  where  the  case 
found  itself  ensconced  among  freight  of  a  neat  and 
agreeable  character,  the  name  had  the  effect  of  intrep 
idly  blowing  him  a  kiss  as  the  train-man  slid  the  car 
doors  together  and  fastened  them.  He  drew  a  long 
breath  when  the  train  had  backed  and  bumped  down 
to  the  car,  and  the  couplers  had  clashed  together,  and 
the  maniac,  who  had  not  been  mashed  in  dropping 
the  coupling-pin  into  its  socket,  scrambled  out  from 
the  wheels,  and  frantically  worked  his  arms  to  the 
potential  homicide  in  the  locomotive  cab,  and  the 
train  had  jolted  forward  on  the  beginning  of  its  run. 
That  was  the  last  of  the  piano,  and  Gaites  threw  it 
off  his  mind,  and  finished  his  breakfast  at  his  leisure. 
He  was  going  to  spend  his  vacation  at  Kent  Harbor, 
where  he  knew  some  agreeable  people,  and  where  he 
knew  that  a  young  man  had  many  chances  of  a  good 
time,  even  if  he  were  not  the  youngest  kind  of  young 
man.  He  had  spent  two  of  his  Harvard  vacations 
there,  and  he  knew  this  at  first  hand.  He  could 
not  and  did  not  expect  to  do  so  much  two-ing  on  the 
rocks  and  up  the  river  as  he  used ;  the  zest  of  that 


86  THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE  .PIANO. 

sort  of  thing  was  past,  rather ;  but  he  had  brought  his 
golf  stockings  with  him,  and  a  quiverful  of  the  uten 
sils  of  the  game,  in  obedience  to  a  lady  who  had  said 
there  were  golf-links  at  Kent,  and  she  knew  a  young 
lady  who  would  teach  him  to  play. 

He  was  going  to  stop  off  at  Burymouth,  to  see  a 
friend,  an  old  Harvard  man,  and  a  mighty  good  fel 
low,  who  had  rather  surprised  people  by  giving  up 
New  York,  and  settling  in  the  gentle  old  town  on  the 
Piscatamac.  They  accounted  for  it  as  well  as  they 
could  by  his  having  married  a  Burymouth  girl ;  and 
since  he  had  begun,  most  unexpectedly,  to  come  for 
ward  in  literature,  such  of  his  friends  as  had  seen  him 
there  said  it  was  just  the  place  for  him.  Gaites  had 
not  yet  seen  him  there,  and  he  had  a  romantic  curios 
ity,  the  survival  of  an  intensified  friendship  of  their 
Senior  year,  to  do  so.  He  got  to  thinking  of  this 
good  fellow  rather  vividly,  when  he  had  cleared  his 
mind  of  Miss  Desmond's  piano,  and  he  did  not  see 
why  he  should  not  take  an  earlier  train  to  Burymouth 
than  he  had  intended  to  take;  and  so  he  had  them 
call  him  a  coupe  from  the  restaurant,  and  he  got  into 
it  as  soon  as  he  left  the  breakfast-table. 

He  gave  the  driver  the  authoritative  address,  "  Sea 
Board  Depot,"  and  left  him  to  take  his  own  way, 


THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE    PIANO.  87 

after  resisting  a  rather  silly  impulse  to  bid  him  go 
through  Charles  Street. 

The  man  drove  up  Beacon,  and  down  Temple 
through  Staniford,  and  naturally  Gaites  saw  nothing 
of  Miss  Desmond's  piano,  which  had  come  into  his 
mind  again  in  starting.  He  did  not  know  the  colon 
naded  structure,  with  its  stately  porte-cochere,  where 
his  driver  proposed  to  leave  him,  instead  of  the  form 
less  brick  box  which  he  remembered  as  the  Sea  Board 
Depot,  and  he  insisted  upon  that  when  the  fellow  got 
down  to  open  the  door. 

"  Ain't  no  Sibbod  Dippo,  now,"  the  driver  ex 
plained,  contemptuously.  "  Guess  Union  Dippo'll  do, 
though ;  "  and  Gaites,  a  little  overcome  with  its  splen 
dor,  found  that  it  would.  He  faltered  a  moment  in 
passing  the  conductor  and  porter  at  the  end  of  the 
Pullman  car  on  his  train,  and  then  decided  that  it 
would  be  ridiculous  to  take  a  seat  in  it  for  the  short 
run  to  Burymouth.  In  the  common  coach  he  got  a 
very  good  seat  on  the  shady  side,  where  he  put  down 
his  hand-bag.  Then  he  looked  at  his  watch,  and  as 
it  was  still  fifteen  minutes  before  train-time,  he  in 
dulged  a  fantastic  impulse.  He  left  the  car  and  hur 
ried  back  through  the  station  and  out  through  the 
electrics,  hacks,  herdics,  carts,  and  string-teams  of 


88  THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE    PIANO. 

Causeway  Street,  and  up  the  sidewalk  of  the  street 
opening  into  it,  as  far  as  the  S.  B.  &  H.  C.  freight- 
depot.  On  the  way  he  bet  himself  five  dollars  that 
Miss  Desmond's  piano  would  not  be  there,  and  lost; 
for  at  the  moment  he  came  up  it  was  unloading  from 
the  end  of  the  truck  which  he  had  seen  carrying  it 
past  the  window  of  his  restaurant. 

The  fact  amused  him  quite  beyond  the  measure  of 
anything  intrinsically  humorous  in  it,  and  he  staid 
watching  the  exertions  of  the  heated  truckman  and 
two  silk-capped,  sarcastic-faced  freight-men,  till  the 
piano  was  well  on  the  platform.  He  was  so  intent 
upon  it  that  his  interest  seemed  to  communicate  itself 
to  a  young  girl  coming  from  the  other  quarter,  with 
a  suburban,  cloth-sided,  crewel-initialed  bag  in  her 
hand,  as  if  she  were  going  to  a  train.  She  paused  in 
the  stare  she  gave  the  piano-case,  and  then  slowed 
her  pace  with  a  look  over  her  shoulder  after  she  got 
by.  In  this  her  eyes  met  his,  and  she  blushed  and 
hurried  on ;  but  not  so  soon  that  he  had  not  time  to 
see  she  had  a  thin  face  of  a  pathetic  prettiness,  gentle 
brown  eyes  with  wistful  brows,  under  ordinary  brown 
hair.  She  was  rather  little,  and  was  dressed  with  a 
sort  of  unaccented  propriety,  which  was  as  far  from 
distinction  as  it  was  from  pretension. 


THE    PURSUIT    OF   THE   PIANO.  89 

When  Gaites  got  back  to  his  car,  a  few  minutes 
before  the  train  was  to  start,  he  found  the  seat  where 
he  had  left  his  hand-bag  and  light  overcoat  more  than 
half  full  of  a  bulky  lady,  who  looked  stupidly  up  at 
him,  and  did  not  move  or  attempt  any  excuse  for 
crowding  him  from  his  place.  He  had  to  walk  the 
whole  length  of  the  car  before  he  came  to  a  vacant 
seat.  It  was  the  last  of  the  transverse  seats,  and  at 
the  moment  he  dropped  into  it,  the  girl  who  had 
watched  the  unloading  of  the  piano  with  him  passed 
him,  and  took  the  sidewise  seat  next  the  door. 

She  took  it  with  a  weary  resignation  which  some 
how  made  Gaites  ashamed  of  the  haste  with  which  he 
had  pushed  forward  to  the  only  good  place,  and  he 
felt  as  guilty  of  keeping  her  out  of  it  as  if  he  had 
known  she  was  following  him.  He  kept  a  remorseful 
eye  upon  her  as  she  arranged  her  bag  and  umbrella 
about  her,  with  some  paper  parcels  which  she  must 
have  had  sent  to  her  at  the  station.  She  breathed 
quickly,  as  if  from  final  hurry,  but  somewhat  also  as 
if  she  were  delicate ;  and  tried  to  look  as  if  she  did 
not  know  he  was  watching  her.  She  had  taken  off 
one  of  her  gloves,  and  her  hand,  though  little  enough, 
showed  an  unexpected  vigor  with  reference  to  her 
face,  and  had  a  curious  air  of  education. 


90  THE   PUKSUIT   OF   THE   PIANO. 

When  the  train  pulled  out  of  the  station  into  the 
clearer  light,  she  turned  her  face  from  him  toward  the 
forward  window,  and  the  corner  of  her  mouth,  which 
her  half-averted  profile  gave  him,  had  a  kind  of  pit 
eous  droop  which  smote  him  to  keener  regret.  Once 
it  lifted  in  an  upward  curve,  and  a  gay  light  came  into 
the  corner  of  her  eye ;  then  the  mouth  drooped  again, 
and  the  light  went  out. 

Gaites  could  bear  it  no  longer ;  he  rose  and  said, 
with  a  respectful  bow :  "  Won't  you  take  my  seat  ? 
That  seems  such  a  very  inconvenient  place  for  you, 
with  the  door  opening  and  shutting." 

The  girl  turned  her  face  promptly  round  and  up, 
and  answered,  with  a  flush  in  her  thin  cheek,  but  no 
embarrassment  in  her  tone,  "  No,  I  thank  you.  This 
will  do  quite  well,"  and  then  she  turned  her  face  away 
as  before. 

He  had  not  meant  his  politeness  for  an  overture  to 
her  acquaintance,  but  he  felt  as  justly  snubbed  as  if  he 
had ;  and  he  sank  back  into  his  seat  in  some  disorder. 
He  tried  to  hide  his  confusion  behind  the  newspaper 
he  opened  between  them ;  but  from  time  to  time  he 
had  a  glimpse  of  her  round  the  side  of  it,  and  he  saw 
that  the  hand  which  clutched  her  bag  all  the  while 
tightened  upon  it  and  then  loosened  nervously. 


THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE   PIANO.  91 

II. 

"An,  I  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Gaites,  with  a 
kind  of  finality,  as  his  friend  Birkwall  walked  him 
homeward  through  the  loveliest  of  the  lovely  old  Bury- 
mouth  streets.  Something  equivalent  had  been  in  his 
mind  and  on  his  tongue  at  every  dramatic  instant  of 
the  afternoon ;  and,  in  fact,  ever  since  he  had  arrived 
from  the  station  at  Birkwall's  door,  where  Mrs.  Birk 
wall  met  them  and  welcomed  him.  He  had  been  suf 
ficiently  impressed  with  the  aristocratic  quiet  of  the 
vast  square  white  old  wooden  house,  standing  behind 
a  high  white  board  fence,  in  two  acres  of  gardened 
ground ;  but  the  fine  hallway  with  its  broad  low  stair 
way,  the  stately  drawing-room  with  its  carving,  the 
library  with  its  panelling  and  portraits,  and  the  din 
ing-room  with  its  tall  wainscoting,  united  to  give  him 
a  sense  of  the  pride  of  life  in  old  Burymouth  such 
as  the  raw  splendors  of  the  millionaire  houses  in  New 
York  had  never  imparted  to  him. 

"  They  knew  how  to  do  it,  they  knew  how  to  do 
it ! "  he  exclaimed,  meaning  the  people  who  had  such 
houses  built ;  and  he  said  the  same  thing  of  the  other 
Burymouth  houses  which  Birkwall  showed  him,  by 
grace  of  their  owners,  after  the  mid-day  dinner,  which 
Gaites  kept  calling  luncheon. 


92  THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE   PIANO. 

" Be  sure  you  get  back  in  good  time  for  tea"  said 
Mrs.  Birkwall  for  a  parting  charge  to  her  husband ; 
and  she  bade  Gaites,  "  Remember  that  it  is  tea, 
please ;  not  dinner  ;  "  and  he  was  tempted  to  kiss  his 
hand  to  her  with  as  much  courtly  gallantry  as  he 
could ;  for,  standing  under  the  transom  of  the  slender- 
pillared  portal  to  watch  them  away,  she  looked  most 
distinctly  descended  from  ancestors,  and  not  merely 
the  daughter  of  a  father  and  mother,  as  most  women 
do.  Gaites  said  as  much  to  Birkwall,  and  when  they 
got  home  Birkwall  repeated  it  to  his  wife,  without  in 
juring  Gaites  with  her.  If  he  saw  what  Birkwall  had 
meant  in  marrying  her,  and  settling  down  to  his  liter 
ary  life  with  her  in  the  atmosphere  of  such  a  quiet 
place  as  Burymouth,  when  he  might  have  chosen 
money  and  unrest  in  New  York,  she  on  her  side  saw 
what  her  husband  meant  in  liking  the  shrewd,  able 
fellow  who  had  such  a  vein  of  gay  romance  in  his 
practicality,  and  such  an  intelligent  and  respectful 
sympathy  with  her  tradition  and  environment. 

She  sent  and  asked  several  of  her  friends  to  meet 
him  at  tea ;  and  if  in  that  New  England  disproportion 
of  the  sexes  which  at  Burymouth  is  intensified  almost 
to  a  pure  gynocracy  these  friends  were  nearly  all 
women,  he  found  them  even  more  agreeable  than  if 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  93 

they  had  been  nearly  all  men.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
he  had  never  heard  better  talk  than  that  of  these  se 
questered  ladies,  who  were  so  well  bred  and  so  well 
read,  so  humorous  and  so  dignified,  who  loved  to  laugh 
and  who  loved  to  think.  It  was  all  like  something 
in  a  pleasant  book,  and  Gaites  was  not  altogether  to 
blame  if  it  went  to  his  head,  and  after  the  talk  had 
been  of  Burymouth,  in  which  he  professed  so  accept 
able  an  interest,  and  then  of  novels,  of  which  he  had 
read  about  as  many  as  they,  he  confided  to  the  whole 
table  his  experience  with  Miss  Phyllis  Desmond's 
piano.  He  managed  the  psychology  of  the  little  in 
cident  so  well  that  he  imparted  the  very  quality  he 
meant  them  to  feel  in  it. 

"  Plow  perfectly  charming  ! "  said  one  of  the  ladies. 
"  I  don't  wonder  you  fell  in  love  with  the  name.  It's 
fit  for  a  shepherdess  of  high  degree." 

"  If  /  were  a  man,"  said  the  girl  across  the  table 
who  was  not  less  sweetly  a  girl  because  she  would 
never  see  thirty-nine  again,  "  I  should  simply  drop 
everything  and  follow  that  piano  to  Phyllis  Des- 
mond's  door." 

"  It's  quite  what  I  should  like  to  do,"  Gaites  re 
sponded,  with  a  well-affected  air  of  passionate  regret 
"  But  I'm  promised  at  Kent  Harbor — " 


94  THE   PURSUIT    OF    THE   PIANO. 

She  did  not  wait  for  him  to  say  more,  but  submit 
ted,  "  Oh,  well,  if  you're  going  to  Kent  Harbor,  of 
course  !  "  as  if  that  would  excuse  and  explain  any  sort 
of  dereliction ;  and  then  the  talk  went  on  about  Kent 
Harbor  till  Mrs.  Birkwall  asked,  generally,  as  if  it 
were  part  of  the  Kent  Harbor  inquiry,  "  Didn't  I  hear 
that  the  Ashwoods  were  going  to  their  place  at  Upper 
Merritt,  this  year  ? " 

Then  there  arose  a  dispute,  which  divided  the  com 
pany  into  nearly  equal  parties,  as  to  whether  the  Ash- 
woods  had  got  home  from  Europe  yet.  But  it  all 
ended  in  bringing  the  talk  back  to  Phyllis  Desmond's 
piano  again,  and  in  urging  its  pursuit  upon  Gaites,  as 
something  he  owed  to  romance ;  at  least  he  ought  to 
do  it  for  their  sake,  for  now  they  should  all  be  upon 
pins  and  needles  till  they  knew  who  she  was,  and 
what  she  could  be  doing  at  Lower  Merritt,  N.  H. 

At  one  time  he  had  it  on  his  tongue  to  say  that 
there  seemed  to  be  something  like  infection  in  his  in 
terest  in  that  piano,  and  he  was  going  to  speak  of  the 
young  girl  who  seemed  to  share  it,  simply  because  she 
saw  him  staring  at  it,  and  who  faltered  so  long  with 
him  before  the  freight-depot  that  she  came  near  get 
ting  no  seat  in  the  train  for  Burymouth.  But  just  at 
that  moment  the  dispute  about  the  Ashwoods  renewed 


THE   PURSUIT    OF   THE   PIANO.  95 

itself  upon  some  fresh  evidence  which  one  of  the 
ladies  recollected  and  offered;  and  Gaites's  chance 
passed.  When  it  came  again  he  had  no  longer  the 
wish  to  seize  it.  A  lingering  soreness  from  his  expe 
rience  with  that  young  girl  made  itself  felt  in  his 
nether  consciousness.  He  forbore  the  more  easily  be 
cause,  mixed  with  this  pain,  was  a  certain  insecurity 
as  to  her  quality  which  he  was  afraid  might  impart 
itself  to  those  patrician  presences  at  the  table.  They 
would  be  nice,  and  they  would  be  appreciative, — but 
would  they  feel  that  she  was  a  lady,  exactly,  when  he 
owned  to  the  somewhat  poverty-stricken  simplicity  of 
her  dress  in  some  details,  more  especially  her  thread 
gloves,  which  he  could  not  consistently  make  kid? 
He  was  all  the  more  bound  to  keep  her  from  slight 
because  he  felt  a  little,  a  very  little  ashamed  of  her. 

He  woke  next  morning  in  a  wide,  low,  square 
chamber  to  the  singing  of  robins  in  the  garden,  from 
which  at  breakfast  he  had  luscious  strawberries,  and 
heaped  bowls  of  June  roses.  When  he  started  for 
his  train,  he  parted  with  Mrs.  Birkwall  as  old  friends 
as  he  was  with  her  husband ;  and  he  completed  her 
conquest  by  running  back  to  her  from  the  gate,  and 
asking,  with  a  great  air  of  secrecy,  but  loud  enough 
for  Birkwall  to  hear,  whether  she  thought  she  could 


96  THE   PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO. 

find  him  another  girl  in  Burymouth,  with  just  such  a 
house  and  garden,  and  exactly  like  herself  in  every 
way. 

"  Hundreds  ! "  she  shouted,  and  stood  a  graceful 
figure  between  the  fluted  pillars  of  the  portal,  waving 
her  hand  to  them  till  they  were  out  of  sight  behind 
the  corner  of  the  high  board  fence,  over  which  the 
garden  trees  hung  caressingly,  and  brushed  Gaites's 
shoulder  in  a  shy,  fond  farewell. 

It  had  all  been  as  nice  as  it  could  be,  and  he  said 
so  again  and  again  to  Birkwall,  who  would  go  to  the 
train  with  him,  and  who  would  not  let  him  carry  his 
own  hand-bag.  The  good  fellow  clung  hospitably  to 
it,  after  Gaites  had  rechecked  his  trunk  for  Kent  Har 
bor,  and  insisted  upon  carrying  it  as  they  walked  up 
and  down  the  platform  together  at  the  station.  It 
seemed  that  the  train  from  Bostor  which  the  Kent 
Harbor  train  was  to  connect  with  was  ten  minutes 
late,  and  after  some  turns  they  prolonged  their  prom 
enade  northward  as  far  as  the  freight-depot,  Birkwall 
in  the  abstraction  of  a  plot  for  a  novel  which  he  was 
seizing  these  last  moments  to  outline  to  his  friend, 
and  Gaites  with  a  secret  shame  for  the  hope  which 
was  springing  in  his  breast. 

On  a  side  track  stood  a  freight-car,  from  which  the 


THE   PURSUIT    OF   THE   PIANO.  97 

customary  men  in  silk  caps  were  pulling  the  freight, 
and  standing  it  about  loosely  on  the  platform.  The 
car  was  detached  from  the  parent  train,  which  had 
left  it  not  only  orphaned  on  this  siding,  but  appar 
ently  disabled ;  for  Gaites  heard  the  men  talking  about 
not  having  cut  it  out  a  minute  too  soon.  One  of 
them  called  in  at  the  broad  low  door,  to  some  one  in 
side,  "  All  out  ? "  and  a  voice  from  far  within  respond 
ed,  "Case  here,  yet;  /can't  handle  it  alone." 

The  others  went  into  the  car,  and  then,  with  an 
interval  for  some  heavy  bumping  and  some  strong 
language,  they  reappeared  at  the  door  with  the  case, 
which  Gaites  was  by  this  time  not  surprised  to  find 
inscribed  with  the  name  and  address  of  Miss  Phyllis 
Desmond.  He  remained  watching  it,  while  the  men 
got  it  on  the  platform,  so  wholly  inattentive  to  Birk- 
wall's  plot  that  the  most  besotted  young  author  could 
not  have  failed  to  feel  his  want  of  interest.  Birkwall 
then  turned  his  vision  outward  upon  the  object  which 
engrossed  his  friend,  and  started  with  an  "  Oh,  hello !  " 
and  slapped  him  on  the  back. 

Gaites  nodded  in  proud  assent,  and  Birkwall  went 
on :  "I  thought  you  were  faking  the  name  last  night ; 
but  I  didn't  want  to  give  you  away.     It  was  the  real 
thing,  wasn't  it,  after  all." 
G 


98  THE   PURSUIT    OF   THE    PIANO. 

"  The  real  thing,"  said  Gaites,  with  his  most  tooth 
ful  smile,  and  he  laughed  for  pleasure  in  his  friend's 
astonishment. 

"  Well,"  Birkwall  resumed,  "  she  seems  to  be  fol 
lowing  you  up,  old  fellow.  This  will  be  great  for 
Polly,  and  for  Miss  Seaward,  who  wanted  you  to  fol 
low  her  up ;  and  for  all  Burymouth,  for  that  matter. 
Why,  Gaites,  you'll  be  the  tea-table  talk  for  a  week; 
you'll  be  married  to  that  girl  before  you  know  it. 
What  is  the  use  of  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence  ? 
Come !  There's  time  enough  to  get  a  ticket,  and  have 
your  check  changed  from  Kent  Harbor  to  Lower  Mer- 
ritt,  and  the  Hill  Country  express  will  be  along  here 
at  nine  o'clock.  You  can't  let  that  poor  thing  start 
off  on  her  travels  alone  again  ! " 

Gaites  flushed  in  a  joyful  confusion,  and  put  the 
joke  by  as  well  as  he  could.  But  he  was  beginning 
to  feel  it  not  altogether  a  joke ;  it  had  acquired  an 
element  of  mystery,  of  fatality,  which  flattered  while 
it  awed  him ;  and  he  could  not  be  easy  till  he  had 
asked  one  of  the  freight-handlers  what  had  happened 
to  the  car.  He  got  an  answer — flung  over  the  man's 
shoulder — which  seemed  willing  enough,  but  was  whol 
ly  unintelligible  in  the  clang  and  clatter  of  a  passen 
ger-train  which  came  pulling  in  from  the  southward. 


THE    PURSUIT    OF   THE    PIANO.  99 

"  Here's  the  Hill  Country  express  now ! "  said 
Birkwall.  "  You  won't  change  your  mind  ?  Well, 
your  Kent  Harbor  train  backs  down  after  this  goes 
out.  Don't  worry  about  the  piano.  I'll  find  out 
what's  happened  to  the  car  it  was  in,  and  I'll  see  that 
it's  put  into  a  good  strong  one,  next  time." 

"  Do  !  That's  a  good  fellow  ! "  said  Gaites,  and  in 
repeated  promises,  demanded  and  given,  to  come 
again,  they  passed  the  time  till  the  Hill  Country  train 
pulled  out  and  the  Kent  Harbor  train  backed  down. 

III. 

GAITES  was  going  to  stay  a  week  with  a  friend  out 
on  the  Point;  and  after  the  first  day  he  was  so  en 
grossed  with  the  goings-on  at  Kent  Harbor  that  he 
pretty  well  forgot  about  Burymouth,  and  the  piano  of 
Miss  Phyllis  Desmond  lingered  in  his  mind  like  the 
memory  of  a  love  one  has  outlived.  He  went  to  the 
golf  links  every  morning  in  a  red  coat,  and  in  plaid 
stockings  which,  if  they  did  not  show  legs  of  all  the 
desired  fulness,  attested  a  length  of  limb  which  was 
perhaps  all  the  more  remarkable  for  that  reason. 
Then  he  came  back  to  the  beach  and  bathed ;  at  half 
past  one  o'clock  he  dined  at  somebody's  cottage,  and 
afterwards  sat  smoking  seaward  in  its  glazed  or  can- 


100  THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO. 

opied  veranda  till  it  was  time  to  go  to  afternoon  tea  at 
somebody  else's  cottage,  where  he  chatted  about  until 
he  was  carried  off  by  his  hostess  to  put  on  a  black 
coat  for  seven  or  eight  o'clock  supper  at  the  cottage 
of  yet  another  lady. 

There  was  a  great  deal  more  society  than  there  had 
been  in  his  old  college-vacation  days,  when  the  Kent 
Harbor  House  reigned  sole  in  a  perhaps  somewhat 
fabled  despotism  ;  but  the  society  was  of  not  less  sim 
ple  instincts,  and  the  black  coat  which  Gaites  put  on 
for  supper  was  never  of  the  evening-dress  convention. 
Once  when  he  had  been  out  canoeing  on  the  river 
very  late,  his  hostess  made  him  go  "  just  as  he  was," 
and  he  was  consoled  on  meeting  their  bachelor  host 
to  find  that  he  had  had  the  inspiration  to  wear  a  flan 
nel  shirt  of  much  more  outing  type  than  Gaites  him 
self  had  on. 

The  thing  that  he  had  to  guard  against  was  not  to 
praise  the  river  sunsets  too  much  at  any  cottage  on  the 
Point ;  and  in  cottages  on  the  river,  not  to  say  a  great 
deal  of  the  surf  on  the  rocks.  But  it  was  easy  to  re 
spect  the  amiable  local  susceptibilities,  and  Gaites  got 
on  so  well  that  he  told  people  he  was  never  going 
away. 

He  had  arrived  at  this  extreme  before  he  received 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  101 

the  note  from  Mrs.  Birkwall,  which  she  made  his 
prompt  bread-and-butter  letter  the  excuse  of  writing 
him.  She  wrote  mainly  to  remind  him  of  his  prom 
ise  to  stay  another  day  with  her  husband  on  his  way 
home  through  Burymouth ;  and  she  alleged  an  addi 
tional  claim  upon  him  because  of  what  she  said  she 
had  made  Birkwall  do  for  him.  She  had  made  him 
go  down  to  the  freight-depot  every  day,  and  see  what 
had  become  of  Phyllis  Desmond's  piano  ;  and  she  had 
not  dared  write  before,  because  it  had  been  most  un 
accountably  delayed  there  for  the  three  days  that  had 
now  passed.  Only  that  morning,  however,  she  had 
gone  down  herself  with  Birkwall ;  and  it  showed  what 
a  woman  could  do  when  she  took  anything  in  hand. 
Without  knowing  of  her  approach  except  by  telepa 
thy,  the  railroad  people  had  bestirred  themselves,  and 
she  had  seen  them  with  her  own  eyes  put  the  piano- 
case  into  a  car,  and  had  waited  till  the  train  had 
bumped  and  jolted  off  with  it  towards  Mewers  Junc 
tion.  All  the  ladies  of  her  supper  party,  she  declared, 
had  been  keenly  distressed  at  the  delay  of  the  piano 
in  Burymouth,  and  she  was  now  offering  him  the  re 
lief  which  she  had  shared  already  with  them. 

He  laughed  aloud  in  reading  this  letter  at  break 
fast,  and   he  could  not  do  less  than  read  it  to  his 


102  THE   PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO. 

hostess,  who  said  it  was  charming,  and  at  once  took  a 
vivid  interest  in  the  affair  of  the  piano.  She  accepted 
in  its  entirety  his  theory  of  its  being  a  birthday-pres 
ent  for  the  young  girl  with  that  pretty  name ;  and  she 
professed  to  be  in  a  quiver  of  anxiety  at  its  retarded 
progress. 

"  And,  by4he-way,"  she  added,  with  the  logic  of 
her  sex,  "  I'm  just  going  to  the  station  to  see  what's 
become  of  a  trunk  myself  that  I  ordered  expressed 
from  Chicago  a  week  ago.  If  you're  not  doing  any 
thing  this  morning — the  tide  isn't  in  till  noon,  and 
there'll  be  little  or  no  bathing  to  look  at  before  that — • 
you'd  better  drive  down  with  me.  Or  perhaps  you're 
canoeing  up  the  river  with  somebody  ? " 

Gaites  said  he  was  not,  and  if  he  were  he  would 
plead  a  providential  indisposition  rather  than  miss 
driving  with  her  to  the  station. 

"  Well,  anyway,"  she  said,  tangentially,  "  I  can  get 
June  Alber  to  go  too,  and  you  can  take  her  canoeing 
afterwards." 

But  Miss  Alber  was  already  engaged  for  canoeing, 
and  Gaites  was  obliged  to  drive  off  with  his  hostess 
alone.  She  said  she  did  pity  him,  but  she  pitied  him 
no  longer  than  it  took  to  get  at  the  express  agent. 
Then  she  began  to  pity  herself,  and  much  more  ener- 


THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE   PIANO.  103 

getically  if  not  more  sincerely,  for  it  seemed  that  the 
agent  had  not  been  able  to  learn  anything  about  her 
trunk,  and  was  unwilling  even  to  prophesy  concerning 
it.  Gaites  left  him  to  question  at  her  hands,  which 
struck  him  as  combining  all  the  searching  effects  of  a 
Rontgen-ray  examination  and  the  earlier  procedure 
with  the  rack ;  and  he  wandered  off,  in  a  habit  which 
he  seemed  to  have  formed,  toward  the  freight-house. 

He  amused  himself  thinking  what  he  should  do  if 
he  found  Phyllis  Desmond's  piano  there,  but  he  was 
wholly  unprepared  to  do  anything  when  he  actually 
found  it  standing  on  the  platform,  as  if  it  had  just 
been  put  out  of  the  freight-car  which  was  still  on  the 
siding  at  the  door.  He  passed  instantly  from  the 
mood  of  gay  conjecture  in  which  he  was  playing  with 
the  improbable  notion  of  its  presence  to  a  violent  in 
dignation. 

"  Why,  look  here  !  "  he  almost  shouted  to  a  man 
in  a  silk  cap  and  greased  overalls  who  was  contemplat 
ing  the  inscription  on  the  slope  of  its  cover,  "  what's 
that  piano  doing  here  ?  " 

The  man  seemed  to  accept  him  as  one  having 
authority  to  make  this  demand,  and  responded  mildly, 
"  Well,  that's  just  what  I  was  thinking  myself." 

"  That  piano,"  Gaites  went  on  with  unabated  vio- 


104  THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE   PIANO. 

lence,  "  started  from  Boston  at  the  beginning  of  the 
week ;  and  I  happen  to  know  that  it's  been  lying  two 
or  three  days  at  Burymouth,  instead  of  going  on  to 
Lower  Merritt,  as  it  ought  to  have  done  at  once.  It 
ought  to  have  been  in  Lower  Merritt  Wednesday 
afternoon  at  the  latest,  and  here  it  is  at  Kent  Harbor 
Saturday  morning ! " 

The  man  in  the  silk  cap  scanned  Gaites's  figure 
warily,  as  if  it  might  be  that  of  some  official  whale  in 
disguise,  and  answered  in  a  tone  of  dreamy  sugges 
tion:  "Must  have  got  shifted  into  the  wrong  car  at 
Mewers  Junction,  somehow.  Or  maybe  they  started 
it  wrong  from  Burymouth." 

Mrs.  Maze  was  coming  rapidly  down  the  platform 
toward  them,  leaving  the  express  agent  to  crawl  flac- 
cidly  into  his  den  at  the  end  of  the  passenger-station, 
with  the  air  of  having  had  all  his  joints  started. 

"  Just  look  at  this,  Mrs.  Maze,"  said  Gaites  when 
she  drew  near  enough  to  read  the  address  on  the 
piano-case.  She  did  look  at  it;  then  she  looked  at 
Gaites's  face,  into  which  he  had  thrown  a  sort  of 
stony  calm ;  and  then  she  looked  back  at  the  piano- 
case. 

"  No !  ? "  she  exclaimed  and  questioned  in  one. 

Gaites  nodded  confirmation. 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  105 

"  Then  it  won't  be  there  in  time  for  the  poor  thing's 
birthday  ? " 

He  nodded  again. 

Mrs.  Maze  was  a  woman  who  never  measured  her 
terms,  perhaps  because  there  was  nothing  large  enough 
to  measure  them  with,  and  perhaps  because  in  their  ut 
most  expansion  they  were  a  tight  fit  for  her  emotions. 

"  Well,  it's  an  abominable  outrage ! "  she  began. 
She  added:  "It's  a  burning  shame!  They'll  never 
get  over  it  in  the  world  j  and  when  it  comes  lagging 
along  after  everything's  over,  she  won't  care  a  pin  for 
it !  How  did  it  happen  ? " 

Gaites  mutely  referred  her,  with  a  shrug,  to  the 
?nan  in  the  silk  cap,  and  he  again  hazarded  his  dreamy 
Conjecture. 

"  Well,  it  doesn't  matter  !  "  she  said,  with  a  bitter 
ness  that  was  a  great  comfort  to  Gaites.  "  What  are 
you  going  to  do  about  it  ? "  she  asked  him. 

"  I  don't  know  what  can  be  done  about  it,"  he  an 
swered,  referring  himself  to  the  man  in  the  silk  cap. 

The  man  said,  "  No  freight  out,  now,  till  Monday." 

Mrs.  Maze  burst  forth  again :  "  If  I  had  the  least 
confidence  in  the  world  in  any  human  express  com 
pany,  I  would  send  it  by  express  and  pay  the  express- 
age  myself." 


106  THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  let  you  do  that,  Mrs.  Maze,"  Gaites 
protested.  "Besides,  I  don't  suppose  they'd  allow 
us  to  take  it  out  of  the  freight,  here,  unless  we  had 
the  bill  of  lading." 

"  Well,"  cried  Mrs.  Maze,  passionately,  "  I  can't 
bear  to  think  of  that  child's  suspense  It's  perfectly 
heart-sickening.  Why  shouldn't  they  telegraph  ? 
They  ought  to  telegraph !  If  they  let  things  go  wan 
dering  round  the  earth  at  this  rate,  the  least  they  can 
do  is  to  telegraph  and  relieve  people's  minds.  We'll 
go  and  make  the  station-master  telegraph  !  " 

But  even  when  the  station-master  was  found,  and 
made  to  understand  the  case,  and  to  feel  its  hardship, 
he  had  his  scruples.  "  I  don't  think  I've  got  any 
right  to  do  that,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course  I'll  pay  for  the  telegram,"  Mrs.  Maze 
interpolated. 

"  It  ain't  that  exactly,"  said  the  station-master.  "  It 
might  look  as  if  I  was  meddling  myself.  I  rather  not, 
Mrs.  Maze." 

She  took  fire.  "  Then  Til  meddle  myself !  "  she 
blazed.  "  There's  nothing  to  hinder  my  telegraphing, 
I  suppose ! " 

"  /  can't  hinder  you,"  the  station-master  admitted. 

"  Well,  then  !  "     She  pulled  a  bunch  of  yellow  tel- 


THE    PURSUIT   OF    THE    PIANO.  107 

egraph   blanks  toward   her,  and  consumed   three  of 
them  in  her  comprehensive  despatch : 

Miss  Phyllis  Desmond, 

Lower  Merritt,  N.  IT. 

Piano  left  Boston  Monday  P.  M.  Broke  down  on 
way  to  Burymouth,  where  delayed  four  days.  Sent  by 
mistake  to  Kent  Harbor  from  Mewers  Junction.  For 
warded  to  Lower  Merritt  Monday. 

"  There  !  How  will  that  do  ? "  she  asked  Gaites, 
submitting  the  telegram  to  him. 

"  That  seems  to  cover  the  ground,"  he  said,  not  so 
wholly  hiding  the  misgiving  he  began  to  feel  but  that 
she  demanded, 

"  It  explains  everything,  doesn't  it  ? " 

«  Yes—" 

"  Very  well ;  sign  it,  then  ! " 

"I?" 

"  Certainly.     She  doesn't  know  me." 

"  She  doesn't  know  me,  either,"  said  Gaites.  He 
added :  "  And  a  man's  name — " 

"  To  be  sure !  Why  didn't  I  think  of  that? "  and 
she  affixed  a  signature  in  which  the  baptismal  name 
gave  away  her  romantic  and  impulsive  generation — 
ELAINE  W.  MAZE  "  Now"  she  triumphed,  as  Gaites 


108  THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO. 

helped  her  into  her  trap — "  now  I  shall  have  a  little 
peace  of  my  life  !  " 

IV. 

MRS.  MAZE  had  no  great  trouble  in  making  Gaites 
stay  over  Sunday.  The  argument  she  used  was,  "  No 
freight  out  till  Monday,  you  know."  The  inducement 
was  June  Alber,  whom  she  said  she  had  already  en 
gaged  to  go  canoeing  with  Gaites  Sunday  afternoon. 

That  afternoon  was  exquisite.  The  sky  was  cloud 
less,  and  of  one  blue  with  the  river  and  the  girl's 
eyes,  as  Gaites  noted  while  she  sat  facing  him  from 
the  bow  of  the  canoe.  But  the  day  was  of  the  treach 
erous  serenity  of  a  weather-breeder,  and  the  next 
morning  brought  a  storm  of  such  violence  that  Mrs. 
Maze  declared  it  would  be  a  foolhardy  risk  of  his  life 
for  Gaites  to  go;  and  again  she  enforced  her  logic 
with  Miss  Alber,  whom  she  said  she  had  asked  to 
one-o'clock  dinner,  with  a  few  other  friends. 

Gaites  stayed,  of  course,  but  he  atoned  for  his 
weakness  by  starting  early  Tuesday  morning,  so  as  to 
get  the  first  Hill  Country  train  from  Boston  at  Bury- 
mouth.  He  had  decided  that  to  get  in  as  much 
change  of  air  as  possible  he  had  better  go  to  Cray- 
brooks  for  the  rest  of  his  vacation. 


THE   PURSUIT    OF   THE    PIANO.  109 

His  course  lay  through  Lower  Merritt,  and  perhaps 
he  would  have  time  to  run  out  from  the  train  and  ask 
the  station-master  (known  to  him  from  his  former  so 
journ)  who  Miss  Phyllis  Desmond  was.  His  mind 
was  not  so  full  of  Miss  June  Alber  but  that  he  wished 
to  know. 

It  was  still  raining  heavily,  and  on  the  first  cut  be 
yond  Porchester  Junction  his  train  was  stopped  by  a 
flagman,  sent  back  from  a  freight-train.  There  was 
a  wash-out  just  ahead,  and  the  way  would  be  blocked 
for  several  hours  yet,  if  not  longer.  The  express 
backed  down  to  Porchester,  and  there  seemed  no 
choice  for  Gaites,  if  he  insisted  upon  going  to  Cray- 
brooks,  but  to  take  the  first  train  up  the  old  Boston 
and  Montreal  line  to  Wells  River  and  across  by  the 
Wing  Road  through  Fabyans ;  and  this  was  what  he 
did,  arriving  very  late,  but  quite  in  time  for  all  he 
had  to  do  at  Craybrooks. 

The  next  day  the  weather  cleared  up  cold,  after  the 
storm,  and  the  fat  old  ladies,  who  outnumber  every 
body  but  the  thin  young  girls  at  summer  hotels,  made 
the  landlord  put  the  steam  on  in  the  corridors,  and 
toasted  themselves  before  the  log  fires  on  the  spec 
tacular  hall  hearth.  Gaites  walked  all  day,  and  at 
night  he  /ounged  by  the  lamp,  trying  to  read,  and 


110  THE   PURSUIT    OF   THE    PIANO. 

wished  himself  at  Kent  Harbor.  The  blue  eyes  of 
June  Alber  made  themselves  one  with  the  sky  and  the 
river  again,  and  all  three  laughed  at  him  for  his  folly 
in  leaving  the  certain  delight  they  embodied  for  the 
vague  good  of  a  whim  fulfilled.  Was  this  the  change 
he  had  come  to  the  mountains  for  ?  He  could  throw 
his  hat  into  the  clouds  that  hung  so  low  in  the  defile 
where  the  hotel  lurked,  and  that  was  something;  but 
it  was  not  so  much  to  the  purpose,  now  that  he  had 
it,  as  June  Alber  and  the  sky  and  the  river,  which  he 
had  no  longer.  As  he  drowsed  by  the  fire  in  a  break 
of  the  semicircle  of  old  ladies  before  it,  he  suddenly 
ceased  to  think  of  June  Alber  and  the  Kent  sky  and 
river,  and  found  himself  as  it  were  visually  confronted 
with  that  pale,  delicate  girl  in  thread  gloves ;  she  was 
facing  him  from  the  bow  of  a  canoe  in  the  train  at 
Boston,  where  he  had  first  met  her,  and  some  one  was 
saying,  "  Oh,  she's  a  Desmond,  through  and  through." 
He  woke  to  the  sound  of  a  quick  snort,  in  which  he 
suspected  a  terminal  character  when  he  glanced  round 
the  semicircle  of  old  ladies  and  found  them  all  star 
ing  at  him.  From  the  pain  in  his  neck  he  knew  that 
his  head  had  been  hanging  forward  on  his  breast,  and, 
in  the  strong  belief  that  he  had  been  publicly  dis 
gracing  himself,  he  left  the  place,  and  went  out  on  the 


THE   PURSUIT    OF   THE   PIANO.  Ill 

piazza  till  his  shame  should  be  forgotten.  Of  course, 
the  sound  of  the  name  Desmond  had  been  as  much  a 
part  of  his  dream  as  the  sight  of  that  pale  girl's  face ; 
but  he  felt,  while  he  paced  the  veranda,  the  pull  of  a 
strong  curiosity  to  make  sure  of  the  fact.  From  time 
to  time  he  looked  in  through  the  window,  without 
courage  to  return.  At  last,  when  the  semicircle  was 
reduced  to  the  bulks  of  the  two  ladies  who  had  sat 
nearest  him,  he  went  in,  and  took  a  place  with  a  news 
paper  at  the  lamp  just  behind  them. 

They  stopped  their  talk  and  recognized  him  with 
an  exchange  of  consciousness.  Then,  as  if  compelled 
by  an  irresistible  importance  in  their  topic,  they  be 
gan  again ;  that  is,  one  of  them  began  to  talk  again, 
and  the  other  to  listen,  and  Gaites  from  almost  the 
first  word  joined  the  listener  with  all  his  might,  though 
he  diligently  held  up  his  paper  between  himself  and 
the  speaker  and  pretended  to  be  reading. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  they  must  have  had  their  sum 
mer  home  there  nearly  twenty  years.  Lower  Merritt 
was  one  of  the  first  places  opened  up  in  that  part  of 
the  mountains,  and  I  guess  the  Desmonds  built  the 
first  cottage  there." 

The  date  given  would  make  the  young  lady  whom 
he  remembered  from  her  childhood  romps  on  her 


112  THE    PURSUIT    OF   THE    PIANO. 

father's  lawn  somewhat  older  than  he  imagined,  but 
not  too  old  for  the  purposes  of  his  romance. 

The  speaker  began  to  collect  her  needlework  into 
the  handkerchief  on  her  lap  as  she  went  on,  and  he 
listened  with  an  intensified  abandon. 

"  I  guess,"  she  continued,  "  that  they  pass  most  of 
the  year  there.  After  he  lost  his  money,  he  had  to 
give  up  his  house  in  town,  and  I  believe  they  have  no 
other  home  now.  They  did  use  to  travel  some,  win 
ters,  but  I  guess  they  don't  much  any  more ;  if  they 
don't  stay  there  tho  whole  winter  through,  I  don't 
believe  they  get  much  farther  now  than  Portland,  or 
Burymouth,  at  the  furthest.  It  seems  to  mo  as  if  I 
heard  that  one  of  the  girls  was  going  to  Boston  last 
winter  to  take  piano  lessons  at  the  Conservatory,  so 
as  to  teach ;  but — " 

She  stopped  with  a  definite  air,  and  rolled  her  knit 
ting  up  into  her  handkerchief.  Gaites  made  a  merit 
to  himself  of  rising  abruptly  and  closing  his  paper 
with  a  clash,  as  if  he  had  been  trying  to  read  and  had 
not  been  able  for  the  talking  near  him.  The  ladies 
looked  round  conscience-stricken ;  when  they  saw 
who  it  was,  they  looked  indignant. 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  113 

V. 

IN  the  necessity,  which  we  all  feel,  of  making  prac 
tical  excuses  to  ourselves  for  a  foolish  action,  he  pre 
tended  that  he  had  been  at  Craybrooks  long  enough, 
and  that  now,  since  he  had  derived  all  the  benefit  to 
be  got  from  the  west-side  air,  it  was  best  to  begin  his 
homestretch  on  the  other  slope  of  the  hills.  His  real 
reason  was  that  he  wished  to  stop  at  Lower  Merritt 
and  experience  whatever  fortuities  might  happen  to 
him  from  doing  so.  He  wished,  in  other  words,  to  see 
Phyllis  Desmond,  or,  failing  this,  to  find  out  whether 
her  piano  had  reached  her. 

It  had  now  a  pathos  for  him  which  had  been  want 
ing  earlier  in  his  romance.  It  was  no  longer  a  gay 
surprise  for  a  young  girl's  birthday  ;  it  was  the  sober 
means  of  living  to  a  woman  who  must  work  for  her 
living.  But  he  found  it  not  the  less  charming  for 
that;  he  had  even  a  more  romantic  interest  in  it, 
mingled  with  the  sense  of  patronage,  of  protection, 
which  is  so  agreeable  to  a  successful  man. 

He  began  to  long  for  some  new  occasion  of  pro 
moting  the  arrival  of  the  piano  in  Lower  Merritt,  and 
he  was  so  far  from  regretting  his  former  interventions 
that  at  the  first  junction  where  his  train  stopped  he 
employed  the  time  in  exploring  the  freight-house  in 
TT 


114  THE    PURSUIT    OF   THE    PIANO. 

the  vain  hope  of  finding  it  there,  and  urging  the  road 
to  greater  speed  in  its  delivery  to  Miss  Desmond.  He 
was  now  not  at  all  ashamed  of  the  stand  he  had  taken 
in  the  matter  at  former  opportunities,  and  he  was  not 
abashed  when  a  man  in  a  silk  cap  demanded,  across 
the  twilight  of  the  freight-house,  in  accents  of  the 
semi-sarcasm  appropriate  in  addressing  a  person  ap 
parently  not  minding  his  own  business,  "  Lost  some 
thing?" 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  answered  Gaites  with  just  effrontery. 
"  I've  lost  an  upright  piano.  I  started  with  it  from 
Boston  ten  days  or  a  fortnight  ago,  and  I've  found  it 
everywhere  I've  stopped,  and  sometimes  where  I 
didn't  stop.  How  long,  in  the  course  of  nature,  ought 
an  upright  piano  to  take  in  getting  to  this  point  from 
Boston,  anyway  ? " 

The  man  obviously  tasted  the  sarcasm  in  Gaites's 
tone,  and  dropped  it  from  his  own,  but  he  was  sulkier 
if  more  respectful  than  before  in  answering :  "  'D  ought 
a  come  right  through  in  a  couple  of  days.  'D  ought 
a  been  here  a  week  ago." 

"  Why  isn't  it  here  now,  then  ? " 

"  Might  'a'  got  off  on  some  branch  ro-ad,  by  mis 
take,  and  waited  there  till  it  was  looked  up.  You 
see,"  the  man  continued,  resting  an  elbow  on  the  tall 


THE   PURSUIT    OF   THE   PIANO.  115 

casing  of  a  chest  of  drawers,  and  dropping  to  a  more 
confidential  level  in  his  manner,  "  an  upright  piano 
ain't  like  a  passenger.  It  don't  kick  if  it's  shunted 
off  on  the  wrong  line.  As  a  gene'l  rule,  freight  don't 
complain  of  the  route  it  travels  by,  and  it  ain't  in  a 
hurry  to  arrive." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Gaites,  with  a  sympathetic  sneer. 

"  But  it  ain't  likely,"  said  the  man,  who  now  pushed 
his  hat  far  back  on  his  head,  in  the  interest  of  self- 
possession,  "that  it's  gone  wrong.  With  all  these 
wash-outs  and  devilments,  the  last  fo't-night,  it  might 
a'  been  travellin'  straight  and  not  got  the'a,  yet. 
What  d'you  say  was  the  address  ? " 

"  Lower  Merritt,"  said  Gaites,  beginning  to  feel  a 
little  uncomfortable. 

"  Name  ? "  persisted  the  man. 

"Miss  Phyllis  Desmond,"  Gaites  answered,  now 
feeling  really  silly,  but  unable  to  get  away  without 
answering. 

"  That  ain't  your  name  ? "  the  man  suggested,  with 
reviving  sarcasm. 

"  No,  it  isn't !  "  Gaites  retorted,  angrily,  aware  that 
he  was  giving  himself  away  in  fine  shape. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  the  man  mocked.  "  Friend  o*  the 
family.  Well,  I  guess  you'll  find  your  piano  at  Lower 


116  THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE   PIANO. 

Merritt,  all  right,  in  two-three  weeks."  He  was  now 
openly  offensive,  as  with  a  sense  of  having  Gaites  in 
his  power. 

A  locomotive-bell  rang,  and  Gaites  started  toward 
the  doorway.  "  Is  that  my  train  ? " 

The  man  openly  laughed.  "  Guess  it  is,  if  you're 
goin'  to  Lower  Merritt."  As  Gaites  shot  through  the 
doorway  toward  his  train,  he  added,  in  an  insolent 
drawl,  "  Miss — Des — mond  !  " 

Gaites  was  so  furious  when  he  got  back  to  the 
smoking-room  of  the  parlor-car  that  he  was  sorry  for 
several  miles  that  he  had  not  turned  back  and  kicked 
the  man,  even  if  it  lost  him  his  train.  But  this  was 
only  while  he  was  under  the  impression  that  he  was 
furious  with  the  man.  When  he  discovered  that  he 
was  furious  with  himself,  for  having  been  all  imagin 
able  kinds  of  an  ass,  he  perceived  that  he  had  done 
the  wisest  thing  he  could  in  leaving  the  man  to  him 
self,  and  taking  up  the  line  of  his  journey  again. 
What  remained  mortifying  was  that  he  had  bought 
his  ticket  and  checked  his  bag  to  Lower  Merritt,  which 
he  wished  never  to  hear  of  again,  much  less  see. 

He  rang  for  the  porter  and  consulted  him  as  to 
what  could  be  done  toward  changing  the  check  on  his 
bag  from  Lower  Merritt  to  Middlemount  Junction; 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  117 

and  as  it  appeared  that  this  was  quite  feasible,  since 
his  ticket  would  have  carried  him  two  stations  beyond 
the  Junction,  he  had  done  it.  He  knew  the  hotel  at 
Middlemount,  and  he  decided  to  pass  the  night  there, 
and  the  next  day  to  go  back  to  Kent  Harbor  and  June 
Alber,  and  let  Lower  Merritt  and  Phyllis  Desmond 
take  care  of  themselves  from  that  time  forward. 

While  the  driver  of  the  Middlemount  House  baro-e 

o 

was  helping  the  station-master-and-baggage-man  (they 
were  one)  put  the  arriving  passengers'  trunks  into  the 
wagon  for  the  Middlemount  House,  Gaites  paced  up 
and  down  the  long  platform  in  the  remnant  of  his  ex 
citement,  and  vowed  himself  to  have  nothing  more  to 
do  with  Miss  Desmond's  piano,  even  if  it  should  turn 
up  then  and  there  and  personally  appeal  to  him  for 
help.  In  this  humor  he  was  not  prepared  to  have 
anything  of  the  kind  happen,  and  he  stood  aghast,  in 
looking  absently  into  a  freight-car  standing  on  the 
track,  to  read,  "  Miss  Phyllis  Desmond,  Lower  Mer 
ritt,  N.  H.,"  on  the  slope  of  the  now  familiar  case 
just  within  the  open  doorway.  It  was  as  if  the  poor 
girl  were  personally  there  pleading  for  his  help  with 
the  eyes  whose  tenderness  he  remembered. 

The  united    station-master-and-baggage-man,  who 
appeared  also  to  be  the  freight  agent,  came  lounging 


118  THE    PURSUIT    OF   THE   PIANO. 

down  the  platform  toward  him.  He  was  so  exactly 
of  the  rustic  railroad  type  that  he  confused  Gaites 
with  a  doubt  as  to  which  functionary,  of  the  many  he 
now  knew,  this  was. 

"  GoV  to  walk  over  to  the  hotel  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  Gaites  faltered,  and  the  man  abruptly  turn 
ed,  and  made  the  gesture  for  starting  a  locomotive  to 
the  driver  of  the  Middlemount  stage. 

"  All  right,  Jim  !  "  he  shouted,  and  the  stage  drove 
off. 

"  What  time  can  I  get  a  train  for  Lower  Merritt 
this  afternoon  ?  "  asked  Gaites. 

"  Four  o'clock,"  said  the  man.  "  This  freight  goes 
out  first  5  "  and  now  Gaites  noticed  that  up  on  a  siding 
beyond  the  station  an  engine  with  a  train  of  freight- 
cars  was  fretfully  fizzing.  The  engineer  put  a  silk- 
capped  head  out  of  the  cab  window  and  looked  back 
at  the  station-master,  who  began  to  work  his  arms  like 
a  semaphore  telegraph.  Then  the  locomotive  tooted, 
the  bell  rang,  and  the  freight-train  ran  forward  on  the 
switch  to  the  main  track,  and  commenced  backing 
down  to  where  they  stood.  Evidently  it  was  going 
to  pick  up  the  car  with  Phyllis  Desmond's  piano  in  it. 

"When  does  this  freight  go  out?"  Gaites  palpi 
tated. 


THE   PURSUIT   OF  THE  PIANO.  119 

"  'Bout  ten  minutes,"  said  the  station-master. 

"  Does  it  stop  at  Lower  Merritt  ? " 

"  Leaves  this  cah  the'a,"  said  the  man,  as  if  sur 
prised  into  the  admission. 

"  Can  I  go  on  her  ? "  Gaites  pursued,  breathlessly. 

"  Well,  I  guess  you'll  have  to  talk  to  this  man 
about  that,"  and  the  station-master  indicated,  with  a 
nod  of  his  head,  the  freight  conductor,  who  was  swing 
ing  himself  down  from  the  caboose,  now  come  abreast 
of  them  on  the  track.  A  brakeman  had  also  jumped 
down,  and  the  train  fastened  on  to  the  waiting  car, 
under  his  manipulation,  with  a  final  cluck  and  jolt. 

The  conductor  and  station-master  exchanged  large 
oblong  Manila-paper  envelopes,  and  the  station-master 
said,  casually,  "  Here's  a  man  wants  to  go  to  Lower 
Merritt  with  you,  Bill." 

The  conductor  looked  amused  and  interested. 
"  Eva  travel  in  a  caboose  ? " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  can  stand  it  fo'  five  miles,  any 
way." 

He  turned  and  left  Gaites,  who  understood  this  for 
permission,  and  clambered  into  the  car,  where  he 
found  himself  in  a  rude  but  far  from  comfortless  in 
terior.  There  was  a  sort  of  table  or  desk  in  the 


120  THE    PURSUIT    OF   THE   PIANO. 

middle,  with  a  heavy  chair  or  two  before  it;  round 
the  side  of  the  car  were  some  leather-covered  benches, 
suitable  for  the  hard  naps  which  seemed  to  be  taken 
on  them,  if  he  could  guess  from  the  man  in  overalls 
asleep  on  one. 

The  conductor  came  in,  after  the  train  started,  and 
seemed  disposed  to  be  sociable.  He  had  apparently 
gathered  from  the  station-master  so  much  of  Gaites's 
personal  history  as  had  accumulated  since  he  left  the 
express  train  at  Middlemount. 

"  Thought  you'd  try  a  caboose  for  a  little  change 
from  a  pahla-cah,"  he  suggested,  humorously. 

"Well,  yes,"  Gaites  partially  admitted.  "I  did 
intend  to  stay  over  at  Middlemount  when  I  left  the 
express  there,  but  I  changed  my  mind  and  decided  to 
go  on.  It's  very  good  of  you  to  let  me  come  with 
you." 

"  'Tain't  but  a  little  way  to  Lowa  Merritt,"  the  con 
ductor  explained,  defensively.  "  Eva  been  the'a  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  passed  a  week  or  so  there  once,  after 
I  left  college.  Are  you  acquainted  there  ? " 

"  Tmfrom  the'a.  Used  to  wo'k  fo'  the  Desmonds 
— got  that  summa  place  up  the  side  of  the  mountain 
— before  I  took  to  the  ro-ad." 

-<  Oh,  yes  !     Have  they  still  got  it  ?  " 


THE  PURSUIT   OF   THE   PIANO.  121 

"Yes.  Or  it's  got  them.  Be  glad  to  sell  it,  I 
guess,  since  the  old  man  lost  his  money.  But  Lowa 

O  v 

Merritt's  kind  o'  gone  down  as  a  summa  reso't.  Try- 
in'  ha'd  to  bring  it  up,  though.  Know  the  Des 
monds  ? " 

"  No,  not  personally." 

"  Nice  fo-aks,"  said  the  conductor,  providing  him 
self  for  conversational  purposes  with  a  splinter  from 
the  floor.  He  put  it  between  his  teeth  and  continued : 
"  I  took  ca'  thei'  hosses,  one  while,  as  long's  they  had 
any,  before  I  went  on  the  ro-ad.  Old  gentleman  kep' 
up  a  show  till  he  died ;  then  the  fam'ly  found  out  that 
they  hadn't  much  of  anything  but  the  place  left. 
Girls  had  to  do  something,  and  one  of  'em  got  a  place 
in  a  school  out  West — smaht,  all  of  'em ;  the  second 
one  kind  o'  runs  the  fahm ;  and  the  youngest,  here,  's 
been  fittin'  for  a  music-teacha.  Why,  I've  got  a 
piano  for  her  in  this  cah  that  we  picked  up  at  Mid- 
dlemount,  now.  Been  two  wintas  at  the  Conservatory 
in  Boston.  Got  talent  enough,  they  tell  me.  Unda- 
stand  't  she  means  to  go  to  Pohtland  in  the  fall  and 
try  to  get  pupils,  the* a." 

"  Not  if  /  can  help  it ! "  thought  Gaites,  with  a 
swelling  heart ;  and  then  he  blushed  for  his  folly. 


122  THE   PURSUIT    OF   THE   PIANO. 

VI. 

GAITES  found  some  notable  changes  in  the  hotel  at 
Lower  Merritt  since  he  had  last  sojourned  there.  It 
no  longer  called  itself  a  Hotel,  but  an  Inn,  and  it  had 
a  brand-new  old-fashioned  swinging  sign  before  its 
door;  its  front  had  been  cut  up  into  several  gables, 
and  shingled  to  the  ground  with  shingles  artificially 
antiquated,  so  that  it  looked  much  grayer  than  it  nat 
urally  ought.  Within  it  was  equipped  for  electric 
lighting ;  and  there  was  a  low-browed  aesthetic  parlor, 
where,  when  Gaites  arrived  and  passed  to  a  belated 
dinner  in  the  dining-room,  an  orchestra,  consisting  of 
a  lady  pianist  and  a  lady  violinist,  was  giving  the  clos 
ing  piece  of  the  afternoon  concert.  The  dining-room 
was  painted  a  self-righteous  olive-green;  it  was  thor 
oughly  netted  against  the  flies,  which  used  to  roost  in 
myriads  on  the  cut-paper  around  the  tops  of  the  pil 
lars,  and  a  college-student  head  waiter  ushered  Gaites 
through  the  gloom  to  his  place  with  a  warning  and 
hushing  hand  which  made  him  feel  as  if  he  were  be 
ing  shown  to  a  pew  during  prayers. 

He  escaped  as  soon  as  possible  from  the  refection 
which,  from  the  soup  to  the  ice-cream,  had  hardly 
grown  lukewarm,  and  went  out  to  walk  by  a  way 
that  he  knew  well,  and  which  had  for  him  now  a 


THE    PURSUIT    OF  THE   PIANO.  123 

romantically  pathetic  interest.  It  was,  of  course,  the 
way  past  the  Desmond  cottage,  which,  when  he  came 
in  sight  of  it  round  the  shoulder  of  upland  where  it 
stood,  was  curiously  strange,  curiously  familiar.  It 
needed  painting  badly,  and  the  grounds  had  a  sadly 
neglected  air.  The  naked  legs  of  little  girls  no  longer 
twinkled  over  the  lawn,  which  was  grown  neglectedly 
up  to  low-bush  blackberries. 

Gaites  hurried  past  with  a  lump  in  his  throat,  and 
returned  by  another  road  to  the  Inn,  where  his  long 
ramble  ended  just  as  the  dining-room  doors  were 
opened  behind  their  nettings  for  supper.  At  this 
aheerfuler  moment  he  found  the  head  waiter  much 
more  conversible  than  at  the  hour  of  his  retarded  din 
ner,  and  Gaites  made  talk  with  him,  as  the  young  fel 
low  lingered  beside  his  chair,  with  one  eye  on  the 
door  for  the  behoof  of  other  guests. 

Gaites  said  he  had  found  great  changes  in  Lower 
Merritt  since  he  had  been  there  some  years  before, 
and  he  artfully  led  the  talk  up  to  the  Desmonds.  The 
head  waiter  was  rather  vague  about  their  past ;  but  he 
was  distinct  enough  about  their  present,  and  said  the 
young  ladies  happened  all  to  be  at  home.  "  I  don't 
know,"  he  added,  "  whether  you  noticed  our  lady  or 
chestra  when  you  came  in  to  dinner  to-day  ? " 


124  THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE   PIANO. 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  said  Gaites.  "  I  was  very  much  in 
terested.  I  thought  they  played  charmingly,  and  I 
was  sorry  that  I  got  in  only  for  the  close  of  the  last 
piece." 

"  Well,"  the  head  waiter  consoled  him,  "  you'll 
have  a  chance  to  hear  them  again  to-night;  they're 
going  to  play  for  the  hop.  I  don't  know,"  he  added 
again,  "  whether  you  noticed  the  lady  at  the  piano." 

"  I  noticed  that  she  had  a  pretty  head,  which  she 
carried  gracefully,  but  it  was  against  the  window,  and 
I  couldn't  make  out  the  face." 

"  That,"  said  the  head  waiter,  with  pride  either  in 
the  fact  or  for  the  effect  it  must  produce,  "  was  Miss 
Phyllis  Desmond." 

Gaites  started  as  satisfactorily  as  could  be  wished. 
« Indeed  ? " 

"Yes;  she's  engaged  to  play  here  the  whole  sum 
mer."  The  head  waiter  fumbled  with  the  knife  and 
fork  at  the  place  opposite,  and  blushed.  "  But  you'll 
hear  her  to-night  yourself,"  he  ended  incoherently, 
and  hurried  away,  to  show  another  guest  to  his,  or 
rather  her,  place. 

Gaites  wondered  why  he  felt  suddenly  angry ;  why 
he  resented  the  head  waiter's  blush  as  an  impertinence 
and  a  liberty.  After  all,  the  fellow  was  a  student  and 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  125 

probably  a  gentleman ;  and  if  he  chose  to  help  him 
self  through  college  by  taking  that  menial  role  during 
the  summer,  rather  than  come  upon  the  charity  of  his 
friends  or  the  hard-earned  savings  of  a  poor  old  fa 
ther,  what  had  any  one  to  say  against  it  ?  Gaites  had 
nothing  to  say  against  it ;  and  yet  that  blush,  that 
embarrassment  of  a  man  who  had  pulled  out  his  chair 
for  him,  in  relation  to  such  a  girl  as  Miss  Phyllis  Des 
mond,  incensed  him  so  much  that  he  could  not  enjoy 
his  supper.  He  did  not  bow  to  the  head  waiter  when 
he  held  the  netting-door  open  for  him  to  go  out,  and 
he  felt  the  necessity  of  taking  the  evening  air  in  an 
other  stroll  to  cool  himself  off. 

Of  course,  if  the  poor  girl  was  reduced  to  playing 
in  the  hotel  orchestra  for  the  money  it  would  give 
her,  she  had  come  down  to  the  level  of  the  head  wait 
er,  and  they  must  meet  as  equals.  But  the  thought 
was  no  less  intolerable  for  that,  and  Gaites  set  out 
with  the  notion  of  walking  away  from  it.  At  the  sta 
tion,  however,  which  was  in  friendly  proximity  to  the 
Inn,  his  steps  were  stayed  by  the  sound  of  girlish 
voices,  rising  like  sweetly  varied  pipes  from  beyond 
the  freight-depot.  Their  youth  invited  his  own  to 
look  them  up,  and  he  followed  round  to  the  back  of 
the  depot,  where  he  came  upon  a  sight  which  had, 


126  THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE   PIANO. 

perhaps  from  the  waning  light,  a  heightened  charm. 
Against  the  curtain  of  low  pines  which  had  been 
gradually  creeping  back  upon  the  depot  ever  since  the 
woods  were  cut  away  to  make  room  for  it,  four  girls 
were  posed  in  attitudes  instinctively  dramatic  and 
vividly  eager,  while  as  many  men  were  employed  in 
getting  what  Gaites  at  once  saw  to  be  Miss  Phyllis 
Desmond's  piano  into  the  wagon  backed  up  to  the 
platform  of  the  depot.  Their  work  was  nearly  accom 
plished,  but  at  every  moment  of  what  still  remained 
to  be  done  the  girls  emitted  little  shrieks,  laughs,  and 
moans  of  intense  interest,  and  fluttered  in  their  light 
summer  dresses  against  the  background  of  the  dark 
evergreens  like  anxious  birds. 

At  last  the  piano  was  got  into  the  middle  of  the 
wagon,  the  inclined  planks  withdrawn  and  loaded  into 
it,  and  the  tail-board  snapped  to.  Three  of  the  men 
stepped  aside,  and  one  of  them  jumped  into  the  front 
of  the  wagon  and  gathered  up  the  reins  from  the 
horses'  backs.  He  called  with  mocking  challenge  to 
the  group  of  girls,  "  Nobody  goin'  to  git  up  here  and 
keep  this  piano  from  tippin'  out?" 

A  wild  clamor  rose  from  the  girls,  settling  at  last 
into  staccato  cries. 

"  You've  got  to  do  it,  Phyl !" 


THE    PURSUIT   OF   THE    PIANO.  127 

"  Yes,  Phyllis,  you  must  get  in  !  " 

"  It's  your  piano,  Phyl.  You've  got  to  keep  it 
from  tipping  out !  " 

"  No,  no  !  I  won't !  I  can't !  I'm  not  going  to  !  " 
one  voice  answered  to  all,  but  apparently  without  a 
single  reference  to  the  event;  for  in  the  end  the 
speaker  gave  her  hand  to  the  man  in  the  wagon,  and 
with  many  small  laughs  and  squeaks  was  pulled  up 
over  the  hub  and  tire  of  a  front  wheel,  and  then  stood 
staying  herself  against  the  piano-case,  with  a  final 
lamentation  of  "  Oh,  it's  a  shame  !  I'll  never  speak 
to  any  of  you  again !  How  perfectly  mean  !  Oh  /" 
The  last  exclamation  signalized  the  start  of  the  horses 
at  a  brisk  mountain  trot,  which  the  driver  presently 
sobered  to  a  walk.  The  three  remaining  girls  follow 
ed,  mocking  and  cheering,  and  after  them  lounged  the 
three  remaining  men,  at  a  respectful  distance,  marking 
the  social  interval  between  them,  which  was  to  be 
bridged  only  in  some  such  moment  of  supreme  excite 
ment  as  the  present. 

It  was  no  question  with  Gaites  whether  he  should 
bring  up  the  end  of  the  procession ;  he  could  not  think 
of  any  consideration  that  would  have  stayed  him.  He 
scarcely  troubled  himself  to  keep  at  a  fit  remove  from 
the  rest ;  and  as  he  followed  in  the  deepening  twilight 


128  THE    PUHSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO. 

he  felt  a  sweet,  unselfish  gladness  of  heart  that  the 
poor  girl  whom  he  had  seen  so  wan  and  sad  in  Boston 
should  be  the  gay  soul  of  this  pretty  triumph. 

The  wagon  drove  into  the  grounds  of  the  Desmond 
cottage,  and  backed  up  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda. 
Lights  appeared,  and  voices  came  from  within.  One 
of  the  men,  despatched  to  the  barn  for  a  hatchet,  came 
nickering  back  with  a  lantern  also  ;  lamps  brought  out 
of  the  house  were  extinguished  by  the  evening  breeze 
(in  spite  of  luminous  hands  held  near  the  chimney  to 
shelter  them),  amidst  the  joyful  applause  of  all  the 
girls  and  the  laughter  of  the  men.  A  sound  of  ham 
mering  rose,  and  then  a  sound  of  boards  rending  from 
the  clutch  of  nails,  and  then  a  sound  of  pieces  thrown 
loosely  into  a  pile.  There  was  a  continual  flutter  of 
women's  dresses  and  emotions,  and  this  did  not  end 
even  when  the  piano,  disclosed  from  its  casing  and  all 
its  wraps,  was  pushed  indoors,  and  placed  against  the 
parlor  wall,  where  a  flash  of  lamp-light  revealed  it  to 
Gaites  in  final  position. 

He  lingered  still,  in  the  shelter  of  some  barberry- 
bushes  at  the  cottage  gate,  and  not  till  the  last  cry  of 
gratitude  had  been  answered  by  the  unanimous  dis 
claimer  of  the  men  rattling  away  in  the  wagon  did  he 
feel  that  his  pursuit  of  the  piano  had  ended. 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  129 

VII. 

"  CAN  you  tell  me,  madam,"  asked  Gaites  of  an 
obviously  approachable  tabby  next  the  chimney-corner, 
"  which  of  the  musicians  is  Miss  Desmond  ? " 

He  had  hurried  back  to  the  Inn,  and  got  himself 
early  into  a  dress  suit  that  proved  wholly  inessential, 
and  was  down  among  the  first  at  the  hop.  This  func 
tion,  it  seemed,  was  going  on  in  the  parlor,  which 
summed  in  itself  the  character  of  ball-room  as  well  as 
drawing-room.  The  hop  had  now  begun,  and  two 
young  girl  couples  were  doing  what  they  could  to  re 
buke  the  sparse  youth  of  Lower  Merritt  Inn  for  their 
lack  of  eagerness  in  the  evening's  pleasure  by  dancing 
alone.  Gaites  did  not  even  notice  them,  he  was  so 
intent  upon  the  ladies  of  the  orchestra,  concerning 
whom  he  was  beginning  to  have  a  troubled  mind,  not 
to  say  a  dark  misgiving. 

"  Oh,"  the  approachable  tabby  answered,  "  it's  the 
one  at  the  piano.  The  violinist  is  Miss  Axewright,  of 
South  Newton.  They  were  at  the  Conservatory  to 
gether  in  Boston,  and  they  are  such  friends !  Miss 
Desmond  would  never  have  played  here — intends  to 
take  pupils  in  Portland  in  the  winter — if  Miss  Axe 
wright  hadn't  come,"  and  the  pleasant  old  tabby 
purred  on,  with  a  velvety  pat  here,  and  a  delicate 
I 


130  THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO. 

scratch  there.  But  Gaites  heard  with  one  ear  only  ; 
the  other  was  more  devotedly  given  to  the  orchestra, 
which  also  claimed  both  his  eyes.  While  he  learned,  as 
with  the  mind  of  some  one  else,  that  the  Desmonds 
had  been  very  much  opposed  to  Phyllis's  playing  at 
the  Inn,  but  had  consented  partly  with  their  poverty, 
because  they  needed  everything  they  could  rake  and 
scrape  together,  and  partly  with  their  will,  because 
Miss  Axewright  was  such  a  nice  girl,  he  was  painfully 
adjusting  his  consciousness  to  the  fact  that  the  girl  at 
the  piano  was  not  the  girl  whom  he  had  seen  at  Bos- 
and  whom  he  had  so  rashly  and  romantically  decided 
to  be  Miss  Phyllis  Desmond.  The  pianist  was  indeed 
Miss  Desmond,  but  to  no  purpose,  if  the  violinist  was 
some  one  else ;  it  availed  as  little  that  the  violinist  was 
the  illusion  that  had  lured  him  to  Lower  Merritt  in 
pursuit  of  Miss  Desmond's  piano,  if  she  were  really 
Miss  Axewright  of  South  Newton. 

What  remained  for  him  to  do  was  to  arrange  for 
his  departure  by  the  first  train  in  the  morning;  and 
he  was  subjectively  accounting  to  the  landlord  for  his 
abrupt  change  of  mind  after  he  had  engaged  his  room 
for  a  week,  while  he  was  intent  with  all  his  upper  fac 
ulties  upon  the  graceful  poses  and  movements  of  Miss 
Axewright.  There  was  something  so  appealing  in  the 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  131 

pressure  of  her  soft  chin  as  it  held  the  violin  in  place 
against  her  round,  girlish  throat  that  Gaites  felt  a 
lump  in  his  own  larger  than  his  Adam's-apple  would 
account  for  to  the  spectator;  the  delicately  arched 
wrist  of  the  hand  that  held  the  bow,  and  the  rhythmi 
cal  curve  and  flow  of  her  arm  in  playing,  were  means 
of  the  spell  which  wove  itself  about  him,  and  left  him, 
as  it  were,  bound  hand  and  foot.  It  was  in  this  help 
less  condition  that  he  rose  at  the  urgence  of  a  friendly 
young  fellow  who  had  chosen  himself  master  of  cere 
monies,  and  took  part  in  the  dancing;  and  at  the  end 
of  the  first  half  of  the  programme,  while  the  other 
dancers  streamed  out  on  the  verandas  and  thronged 
the  stairways,  he  was  aware  of  dangling  his  chains  as 
he  lounged  toward  the  ladies  of  the  orchestra.  The 
volunteer  master  of  ceremonies  had  half  shut  himself 
across  the  piano  in  his  eager  talk  with  Miss  Desmond, 
and  he  readily  relinquished  Miss  Axewright  to  Gaites, 
who  willingly  devoted  himself  to  her,  after  Miss  Des 
mond  had  risen  in  acknowledgment  of  his  bow.  He 
had  then  perceived  that  she  was  not  nearly  so  tall  as 
she  had  seemed  when  seated ;  and  a  woman  who  sat 
tall  and  stood  low  was  as  much  his  aversion  as  if  his 
own  abnormally  long  legs  did  not  render  him  guilty 
of  the  opposite  offence. 


182  THE   PURSUIT   OF   THE   PIANO. 

Miss  Desmond  must  have  had  other  qualities  and 
characteristics,  but  in  his  absorption  with  Miss  Axe- 
wright's  he  did  not  notice  them.  He  saw  again  the 
pretty,  pathetic  face,  the  gentle  brown  eyes,  the  ordi 
nary  brown  hair,  the  sentient  hands,  the  slight,  grace 
ful  figure,  the  whole  undistinguished,  unpretentious 
presence,  which  had  taken  his  fancy  at  Boston,  and 
which  he  now  perceived  had  kept  it,  under  whatever 
erring  impressions,  ever  since. 

"  I  think  we  have  met  before,  Miss  Axewright,"  he 
said  boldly,  and  he  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her 
pensive  little  visage  light  up  with  a  responsive  humor. 

"  I  think  we  have,"  she  replied ;  and  Miss  Des 
mond,  whose  habitual  state  seemed  to  be  intense  inat 
tention  to  whatever  directly  addressed  itself  to  her,  cut 
in  with  the  cry : 

"  You  have  met  before  !  " 

"  Yes.  Two  weeks  ago,  in  Boston,"  said  Gaites. 
"  Miss  Axewright  and  I  stopped  at  the  S.  B.  &  H.  C. 
freight-depot  to  see  that  your  piano  started  off  all 
right." 

He  explained  himself  further,  and,  "  Well,  I  don't 
see  what  you  did  to  it,"  Miss  Desmond  pouted.  "  It 
just  got  here  this  afternoon." 

"Probably   they   Hhrowed  a  spell'  on  it,  as  the 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  133 

country  people  say,"  suggested  the  master  of  cere 
monies.  "  But  all's  well  that  end's  well.  The  great 
thing  is  to  have  your  piano,  Miss  Phyllis.  I'm  com 
ing  up  to-morrow  morning  to  see  if  it's  got  here  in 
good  condition." 

"  That's  some  compensation,"  said  the  girl  ironical 
ly  ;  and  she  added,  with  the  kind  of  repellent  lure  with 
which  women  know  how  to  leave  men  the  responsi 
bility  of  any  reciprocal  approach,  "  I  don't  know 
whether  it  won't  need  tuning  first." 

"  Well,  I'm  a  piano-tunist  myself,"  the  young  fel 
low  retorted,  and  their  banter  took  a  course  that  left 
Miss  Axewright  and  Gaites  to  themselves.  The 
dancers  began  to  stray  in  again  from  the  stairways 
and  verandas. 

"Dear  me!"  said  Miss  Desmond,  "it's  time  al 
ready  ; "  and  as  she  dropped  upon  the  piano-stool  she 
called  to  Miss  Axewright  with  an  authority  of  tone 
which  Gaites  thought  augured  well  for  her  success  as 
a  teacher,  "  Millicent !  " 

VIII. 

THE  next  morning  when  Gaites  came  down  to  break 
fast  he  had  a  question  which  solved  itself  contrary  to 
his  preference  as  he  entered  the  dining-room.  He 


134  THE   PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO. 

was  so  early  that  the  head  waiter  had  to  jump  from 
his  own  unfinished  meal,  and  run  to  pull  out  his  chair ; 
and  Gaites  saw  that  he  left  at  his  table  the  landlord's 
family,  the  clerk,  the  housekeeper,  and  Miss  Axe- 
wright.  It  appeared  that  she  was  not  only  staying  in 
the  hotel,  but  was  there  on  terms  which  indeed  held 
her  above  the  servants,  but  separated  her  from  the 
guests. 

He  hardly  knew  how  to  dissemble  the  feeling  of 
humiliation  mixed  with  indignation  which  flashed  up 
in  him,  and  which,  he  was  afterwards  afraid,  must 
have  made  him  seem  rather  curt  in  his  response  to  the 
head  waiter's  civilities.  Miss  Axewright  left  the  din 
ing-room  first,  and  he  hurried  out  to  look  her  up  as 
soon  as  he  had  despatched  the  coffee  and  steak  which 
formed  his  breakfast,  with  a  wholly  unreasoned  im 
pulse  to  offer  her  some  sort  of  reparation  for  the  slight 
the  conditions  put  upon  her.  He  found  her  sitting 
on  the  veranda  beside  the  friendly  tabby  of  his  last 
night's  acquaintance,  and  far,  apparently,  from  feeling 
the  need  of  reparation  through  him.  She  was  very 
nice,  though,  and  after  chatting  a  little  while  she  rose, 
and  excused  herself  to  the  tabby,  with  a  politeness 
that  included  Gaites,  upon  the  ground  of  a  promise  to 
Miss  Desmond  that  she  would  come  up,  the  first  thing 


THE    PURSUIT  OF   THE    PIANO.  135 

after  breakfast,  and  see  how  the  piano  was  getting 
along. 

When  she  reappeared,  in  her  hat,  at  the  front  of 
the  Inn,  Gaites  happened  to  be  there,  and  he  asked 
her  if  he  might  walk  with  her  and  make  his  inquiries 
too  about  the  piano,  in  which,  he  urged,  they  were 
mutually  interested.  He  had  a  notion  to  tell  her  all 
about  his  pursuit  of  Miss  Desmond's  piano,  as  some 
thing  that  would  peculiarly  interest  Miss  Desmond's 
friend ;  but  though  she  admitted  the  force  of  his  rea 
soning  as  to  their  common  concern  in  the  fate  of  the 
piano,  and  had  allowed  him  to  go  with  her  to  rejoice 
over  its  installation,  some  subtle  instinct  kept  him 
from  the  confidence  he  had  intended,  and  they  walked 
on  in  talk  (very  agreeable  talk,  Gaites  found  it)  which 
left  the  subject  of  the  piano  altogether  intact. 

This  was  fortunate  for  Miss  Desmond,  who  wished 
to  talk  of  nothing  else.  The  piano  had  arrived  in 
perfect  condition.  "  But  I  don't  know  where  the 
poor  thing  hasn't  been,  on  the  way,"  said  the  girl. 
"  It  left  Boston  fully  two  weeks  ago,  and  it  seems  to 
have  been  wandering  round  to  the  ends  of  the  earth 
ever  since.  The  first  of  last  week,  I  heard  from  it  at 
Kent  Harbor,  of  all  places !  I  got  a  long  despatch 
from  there,  from  some  unknown  female,  telling  me  it 


136  THE   PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO. 

had  broken  down  on  the  way  to  Burymouth,  and  been 
sent  by  mistake  to  Kent  Harbor  from  Mewers  Junction. 
Have  you  ever  been  at  Kent  Harbor,  Mr.  Gaites  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Gaites.  This  was  the  moment  to 
come  out  with  the  history  of  his  relation  to  the  piano ; 
but  he  waited. 

"  And  can  you  tell  me  whether  they  happen  to  have 
a  female  freight  agent  there  ? " 

"  Not  to  my  knowlege,"  said  Gaites,  with  a  mysti 
cal  smile. 

"Then  do  you  know  anybody  there  by  the  name  of 
Elaine  W.  Maze  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Maze  ?  Yes,  I  know  Mrs.  Maze.  She  has  a 
cottage,  there." 

"And  can  you  tell  me  why  Mrs.  Maze  should  be 
telegraphing  me  about  my  piano  ?  " 

There  was  a  note  of  resentment  in  Miss  Desmond's 
voice,  and  it  silenced  the  laughing  explanation  which 
Gaites  had  almost  upon  his  tongue.  He  fell  very 
grave  in  answering,  "  I  can't,  indeed,  Miss  Desmond." 

"  Perhaps  she  found  out  that  it  had  been  a  long 
time  on  the  way,  and  did  it  out  of  pure  good-nature, 
to  relieve  your  anxiety." 

This  was  what  Miss  Axewright  conjectured,  but  it 
seemed  to  confirm  Miss  Desmond's  worst  suspicions. 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  137 

"  That  is  what  I  should  like  to  be  sure  of,"  she 
said. 

Gaites  thought  of  all  his  own  anxieties  and  interfer 
ences  in  behalf  of  the  piano  of  this  ungrateful  girl, 
and  in  her  presence  he  resolved  that  his  lips  should 
be  forever  sealed  concerning  them.  She  never  would 
take  them  in  the  right  way.  But  he  experimented 
with  one  suggestion.  "  Perhaps  she  was  taken  with 
the  beautiful  name  on  the  piano-case,  and  couldn't 
help  telegraphing  just  for  the  pleasure  of  writing  it." 

"  Beautiful  ?  "  cried  Miss  Desmond.  "  It  was  my 
grandmother's  name;  and  I  wonder  they  didn't  call 
me  for  my  great-grandmother,  Daphne,  and  be  done 
with  it." 

The  young  man  who  had  chosen  himself  master  of 
ceremonies  at  the  hop  the  night  before  now  proposed 
from  the  social  background  where  he  had  hitherto 
kept  himself,  "  /  will  call  you  Daphne." 

"  You  will  call  me  Miss  Desmond,  if  you  please, 
Mr.  Ellett."  The  owner  of  the  name  had  been  facing 
her  visitors  from  the  piano-stool  with  her  back  to  the 
instrument.  She  now  wheeled  upon  the  stool,  and 
struck  some  chords.  "  I  wish  you'd  thought  to  bring 
your  fiddle,  Millicent.  I  should  like  to  try  this 
piece."  The  piece  lay  on  the  music-rest  before  her. 


138  THE    PURSUIT    OF   THE   PIANO. 

"  I  will  go  and  get  it  for  her,"  said  the  ex-master 
of  ceremonies. 

"  Do,"  said  Miss  Desmond. 

"  No,  no,"  Gaites  protested.  "  I  brought  Miss  Axe- 
wright,  and  I  have  the  first  claim  to  bring  her  fidd  e." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  couldn't  either  of  you  find  it," 
Miss  Axewright  began. 

"  We'll  both  try,"  said  the  ex-master  of  ceremonies. 
"  Where  do  you  think  it  is  ? " 

"  Well,  it's  in  the  case  on  the  piano." 

"  That  doesn't  sound  very  intricate,"  said  Gaites, 
and  they  all  laughed. 

As  soon  as  the  two  men  were  out  of  the  house,  the 
ex-master  of  ceremonies  confided :  "  That  name  is  a 
very  tender  spot  with  Miss  Desmond.  She's  always 
hated  it  since  I  knew  her,  and  I  can't  remember  when 
I  didn't  know  her." 

"Yes,  I  could  see  that — too  late,"  said  Gaites. 
"But  what  I  can't  understand  is,  Miss  Axewright 
seemed  to  hate  it,  too." 

Mr.  Ellett  appeared  greatly  edified.  "Did  you 
notice  that?" 

"  I  think  I  did." 

"  Well,  now  I'll  tell  you  just  what  I  think.  There 
aren't  any  two  girls  in  the  world  that  like  each  other 


THE   PURSUIT    OF   THE    PIANO.  139 

better  than  those  two.  But  that  shows  just  how  it  is. 
Girls  are  terribly  jealous,  the  best  of  them.  There 
isn't  a  girl  living  that  really  likes  to  have  another  girl 
praised  by  a  man,  or  anything  about  her,  I  don't  care 
who  the  man  is.  It's  a  fact,  whether  you  believe  it 
or  not,  or  whether  you  respect  it.  I  don't  respect  it 
myself.  It's  narrow-minded.  I  don't  deny  it:  they 
are  narrow-minded.  All  the  same,  we  can't  help  our 
selves.  At  least,  /  can't." 

Mr.  Ellett  broke  into  a  laugh  of  exhaustive  intelli 
gence  and  clapped  Gaites  on  the  back. 

IX. 

GAITES,  if  he  did  not  wholly  accept  Ellett's  philos 
ophy  of  the  female  nature,  acted  in  the  light  it  cast 
upon  the  present  situation.  From  that  time  till  the 
end  of  his  stay  at  Lower  Merritt,  which  proved  to  be 
coeval  with  the  close  of  the  Inn  for  the  season,  and 
with  the  retirement  of  the  orchestra  from  duty,  he 
said  nothing  more  of  Miss  Phyllis  Desmond's  beautiful 
name.  He  went  further,  and  altogether  silenced  him 
self  concerning  his  pursuit  of  her  piano;  he  even 
sought  occasions  of  being  silent  concerning  her  piano 
in  every  way,  or  so  it  seemed  to  him,  in  his  anxious 
avoidance  of  the  topic.  In  all  this  matter  he  was  gov- 


140  THE   PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO. 

erned  a  good  deal  by  the  advice  of  Mr.  Ellett,  to  whom 
he  had  confessed  his  pursuit  of  Miss  Desmond's  piano 
in  all  its  particulars,  and  who  showed  a  highly  humor 
ous  appreciation  of  the  facts.  He  was  a  sort  of  second 
(he  preferred  to  say  second-hand)  cousin  of  Miss  Des 
mond,  and,  so  far  as  he  could  make  out,  had  been 
born  engaged  to  her ;  and  he  showed  an  intuition  in 
the  gingerly  handling  of  her  rather  uncertain  temper 
which  augured  well  for  his  future  happiness.  His 
future  happiness  seemed  to  be  otherwise  taken  care 
of,  for  though  he  was  a  young  man  of  no  particular 
prospects,  and  no  profession  whatever,  he  had  a  gen 
erous  willingness  to  liberate  his  affianced  to  an  artistic 
career ;  or,  at  least,  there  was  no  talk  of  her  giving  up 
her  scheme  of  teaching  the  piano-forte  because  she 
was  engaged  to  be  married.  He  was  exactly  fitted  to 
become  the  husband  of  a  wage-earning  wife,  and  was 
so  far  from  being  offensive  in  this  quality  that  every 
body  (including  Miss  Desmond,  rather  fitfully)  liked 
him ;  and  he  was  universally  known  as  Charley  Ellett. 
After  he  had  quite  converted  Gaites  to  his  theory 
of  silence  concerning  his  outlived  romance,  he  liked 
to  indulge  himself,  when  he  got  Gaites  alone  with  the 
young  ladies,  in  speculations  as  to  the  wanderings  of 
Miss  Desmond's  piano.  He  could  always  get  a  rise 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE    PIANO.  141 

out  of  Miss  Desmond  by  referring  to  the  impertinent 
person  who  had  telegraphed  her  about  it  from  Kent 
Harbor,  and  he  could  put  Gaites  into  a  quiver  of  anx 
iety  by  asking  him  whether  he  had  heard  Mrs.  Maze 
speak  of  the  piano  when  he  was  at  Kent  Harbor,  or 
whether  he  had  happened  to  see  anything  of  it  at  any 
of  the  junctions  on  his  way  to  Lower  Merritt.  To 
these  questions  Gaites  felt  himself  obliged  to  respond 
with  lies  point-blank,  though  there  were  times  when 
he  was  tempted  to  come  out  with  the  truth,  Miss  Axe- 
wright  seemed  so  amiably  indifferent,  or  so  sympa 
thetically  interested,  when  Ellett  was  airing  his  con 
jectures  or  pushing  his  investigations. 

Still  Gaites  clung  to  the  refuge  of  his  lies,  and  upon 
the  whole  it  served  him  well,  or  at  least  enabled  him 
to  temporize  in  safety,  while  he  was  making  the  prog 
ress  in  Miss  Axewright's  affections  which,  if  he  had 
not  been  her  lover,  he  never  would  have  imagined 
difficult.  They  went  every  day,  between  the  after 
noon  and  evening  concerts,  to  walk  in  the  Cloister,  a 
colonnade  of  pines  not  far  from  the  Inn,  which  dif 
fered  from  some  other  cloisters  in  being  so  much  de 
voted  to  love-making.  She  was  in  love  with  him,  as 
he  was  with  her ;  but  in  her  proud  maiden  soul  she 
did  not  dream  of  bringing  him  to  the  confession  she 


142  THE   PURSUIT    OF   THE   PIANO. 

longed  for.  This  came  the  afternoon  of  the  last  day 
they  walked  in  the  Cloister,  when  it  seemed  as  if  they 
might  go  on  walking  there  forever,  and  never  emerge 
from  their  fond,  delicious,  tremulous,  trusting  doubt 
of  each  other. 

She  cried  upon  his  shoulder,  with  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  and  owned  that  she  had  loved  him  from  the 
first  moment  she  had  seen  him  in  front  of  the  S.  B. 
&  H.  C.  freight-depot  in  Boston ;  and  Gaites  tried  to 
make  his  passion  antedate  this  moment.  To  do  so, 
he  had  to  fall  back  upon  the  notion  of  pre-existence, 
but  she  gladly  admitted  his  hypothesis. 

The  next  morning  brought  another  mood,  a  mood 
of  sweet  defiance,  in  which  she  was  still  more  enrapt 
uring.  By  this  time  the  engagement  was  known  to 
their  two  friends,  and  Miss  Desmond  came  to  the  cars 
with  Charley  Ellett  to  see  her  off.  As  Gaites  was 
going  to  Boston  on  the  same  train,  they  made  it  the 
occasion  of  seeing  him  off,  too.  Millicent  openly  de 
clared  that  they  two  were  going  together,  that  in  fact 
she  was  taking  him  home  to  show  him  to  her  family 
in  South  Newton  and  see  whether  they  liked  him. 

Ellett  put  this  aspect  of  the  affair  aside.  "  Well, 
then,"  he  said,  "  if  you're  going  to  be  in  Boston  to 
gether,  I  think  you  ought  to  see  the  S.  B.  &  H.  C. 


THE    PURSUIT    OF    THE   PIANO.  143 

traffic-manager,  and  find  out  all  about  what  kept 
Phyl's  piano  so  long  on  the  road.  /  think  they  owe 
her  an  explanation,  and  Gaites  is  a  lawyer,  and  he's 
just  the  man  to  get  it,  with  damages. 

Gaites  saw  in  Ellett's  impudent,  amusing  face  that 
he  divined  Millicent's  continued  ignorance  of  his  ro 
mance,  and  was  bent  on  mischief.  But  the  girl  paid 
no  heed  to  his  talk,  and  Gaites  could  not  help  laugh 
ing.  He  liked  the  fellow ;  he  even  liked  Miss  Des 
mond,  who  was  so  much  softened  by  the  occasion  that 
she  had  all  the  thorny  allure  of  a  ripened  barberry  in  his 
fancy.  They  both  hung  about  the  seat,  where  he 
stood  ready  to  take  his  place  beside  Millicent,  till  the 
conductor  shouted,  "  All  aboard !  "  Then  they  ran 
out,  and  waved  to  the  lovers  through  the  window  till 
the  car  started. 

When  they  could  be  seen  no  longer,  Millicent  let 
Gaites  arrange  their  hand-baggage  together  on  the 
seat  in  front  of  them.  It  was  a  warm  day,  and  she 
said  she  did  believe  she  would  take  her  hat  off ;  and 
she  gave  it  to  him,  odorous  of  her  pretty  hair,  to  put 
in  the  rack  overhead.  After  he  had  done  this,  and 
sat  down  definitively,  she  shrank  unconsciously  closer 
to  him,  knitting  her  fingers  in  those  of  his  hand  on 
the  seat  between  them. 


14:4  THE    PURSUIT    OF   THE   PIANO. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  all  about  yourself." 
"  About  myself  ? " 

"  Yes.     About  Phyllis  Desmond's  piano,  and  why 
you  were  so  interested  in  it." 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE. 


I. 

IT  was  in  the  fervor  of  their  first  married  years  that 
the  Ewberts  came  to  live  in  the  little  town  of  Hil- 
brook,  shortly  after  Hilbrook  University  had  been  es 
tablished  there  under  the  name  of  its  founder,  Josiah 
Hilbrook.  The  town  itself  had  then  just  changed  its 
name,  in  compliance  with  the  conditions  of  his  public 
benefactions,  and  in  recognition  of  the  honor  he  had 
done  it  in  making  it  a  seat  of  learning.  Up  to  a  cer 
tain  day  it  had  been  called  West  Mallow,  ever  since 
it  was  set  off  from  the  original  town  of  Mallow ;  but 
after  a  hundred  and  seventy  years  of  this  custom  it 
began  on  that  day  to  call  itself  Hilbrook,  and  thence 
forward,  with  the  curious  American  acquiescence  in 
the  accomplished  fact,  no  one  within  or  without  its 
limits  called  it  West  Mallow  again. 

The  memory  of  Josiah  Hilbrook  himself  began  to 
be  lost  in  the  name  he  had  given  the  place ;  and  except 
for  the  perfunctory  mention  of  its  founder  in  the  cer- 
K 


146  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

emonies  of  Commencement  Day,  the  university  hardly 
remembered  him  as  a  man,  but  rather  regarded  him 
as  a  locality.  He  had,  in  fact,  never  been  an  impor 
tant  man  in  West  Mallow,  up  to  the  time  he  had  left 
it  to  seek  his  fortune  in  New  York ;  and  when  he  died, 
somewhat  abruptly,  and  left  his  money,  as  it  were, 
out  of  a  clear  sky,  to  his  native  place  in  the  form  of 
a  university,  a  town  hall,  a  soldiers'  monument,  a 
drinking-fountain,  and  a  public  library,  his  fellow- 
townsmen,  in  making  the  due  civic  acknowledgment 
and  acceptance  of  his  gifts,  recalled  with  effort  the 
obscure  family  to  which  he  belonged. 

He  had  not  tried  to  characterize  the  university  by 
his  peculiar  religious  faith,  but  he  had  given  a  church 
building,  a  parsonage,  and  a  fund  for  the  support  of 
preaching  among  them  at  Hilbrook  to  the  small  body 
of  believers  to  which  his  people  adhered.  This  sect 
had  a  name  by  which  it  was  officially  known  to  itself ; 
but,  like  the  Shakers,  the  Quakers,  the  Moravians,  it 
early  received  a  nickname,  which  it  passively  adopted, 
and  even  among  its  own  members  the  body  was  rarely 
spoken  of  or  thought  of  except  as  the  Rixonites. 

Mrs.  Ewbert  fretted  under  the  nickname,  with  an 
impatience  perhaps  the  greater  because  she  had 
merely  married  into  the  Rixonite  church,  and  had 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  147 

accepted  its  doctrine  because  she  loved  her  husband 
rather  than  because  she  had  been  convinced  of  its 
truth.  From  the  first  she  complained  that  the  Rix- 
onites  were  cold ;  and  if  there  was  anything  Emily 
Ewbert  had  always  detested,  it  was  coldness.  No 
one,  she  once  testified,  need  talk  to  her  of  their  pas 
sive  waiting  for  a  sign,  as  a  religious  life ;  if  there 
were  not  some  strong,  central  belief,  some  rigorously 
formulated  creed,  some — 

"Good  old  herb  and  root  theology,"  her  husband 
interrupted. 

"  Yes !  "  she  heedlessly  acquiesced.  "  Unless  there 
is  something  like  that,  all  the  waiting  in  the  world 
won't " — she  cast  about  for  some  powerful  image — 
"  won't  keep  the  cold  chills  from  running  down  my 
back  when  I  think  of  my  duty  as  a  Christian." 

"  Then  don't  think  of  your  duty  as  a  Christian,  my 
dear,"  he  pleaded,  with  the  caressing  languor  which 
sometimes  made  her  say,  in  reprobation  of  her  own 
pleasure  in  it,  that  he  was  a  Rixonite,  if  there  ever 
was  one.  "  Think  of  your  duty  as  a  woman,  or  even 
as  a  mortal." 

"  I  believe  you're  thinking  of  making  a  sermon  on 
that,"  she  retorted;  and  he  gave  a  sad,  consenting 
laugh,  as  if  it  were  quite  true,  though  in  fact  he  never 


148  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

really  preached  a  sermon  on  mere  femininity  or  mere 
mortality.  His  sermons  were  all  very  good,  however ; 
and  that  was  another  thing  that  put  her  out  of  pa 
tience  with  his  Rixonite  parishioners — that  they 
should  sit  there  Sunday  after  Sunday,  year  in  and 
year  out,  and  listen  to  his  beautiful  sermons,  which 
ought  to  melt  their  hearts  and  bring  tears  into  their 
eyes,  and  not  seem  influenced  by  them  any  more  than 
if  they  were  so  many  dry  chips. 

"  But  think  how  long  they've  had  the  gospel,"  he 
suggested,  in  a  pensive  self-derision  which  she  would 
not  share. 

"  Well,  one  thing,  Clarence,"  she  summed  up,  "  I'm 
not  going  to  let  you  throw  yourself  away  on  them ; 
and  unless  you  see  some  of  the  university  people  in 
the  congregation,  I  want  you  to  use  your  old  sermons 
from  this  out.  They'll  never  know  the  difference  ; 
and  I'm  going  to  make  you  take  one  of  the  old  ser 
mons  along  every  Sunday,  so  as  to  be  prepared." 

II. 

ONE  good  trait  of  Mrs.  Ewbert  was  that  she  never 
meant  half  she  said — she  could  not ;  but  in  this  case 
there  was  more  meaning  than  usual  in  her  saying.  It 
really  vexed  her  that  the  university  families,  who  had 


A   DIFFICULT   CASE.  149 

all  received  them  so  nicely,  and  who  appreciated  her 
husband's  spiritual  and  intellectual  quality  as  fully 
as  even  she  could  wish,  came  some  of  them  so  seldom, 
and  some  of  them  never,  to  hear  him  at  the  Rixonite 
church.  They  ought,  she  said,  to  have  been  just 
suited  by  his  preaching,  which  inculcated  with  the 
peculiar  grace  of  his  gentle,  poetic  nature  a  refine 
ment  of  the  mystical  theology  of  the  founder.  The 
Rev.  Adoniram  Rixon,  who  had  seventy  years  before 
formulated  his  conception  of  the  religious  life  as  a 
patient  waiting  upon  the  divine  will,  with  a  constant 
reference  of  this  world's  mysteries  and  problems  to 
the  world  to  come,  had  doubtless  meant  a  more  stren 
uous  abeyance  than  Clarence  Ewbert  was  now  preach 
ing  to  a  third  generation  of  his  followers.  He  had 
doubtless  meant  them  to  be  eager  and  alert  in  this 
patience,  but  the  version  of  his  gospel  which  his  lat 
est  apostle  gave  taught  a  species  of  acquiescence  which 
was  foreign  to  the  thoughts  of  the  founder.  He  put 
as  great  stress  as  could  be  asked  upon  the  importance 
of  a  realizing  faith  in  the  life  to  come,  and  an  implicit 
trust  in  it  for  the  solution  of  the  problems  and  per 
plexities  of  this  life ;  but  so  far  from  wishing  his 
hearers  to  be  constantly  taking  stock,  as  it  were,  of 
their  spiritual  condition,  and  interrogating  Providence 


150  A    DIFFICULT    CASE. 

as  to  its  will  concerning  them,  he  besought  them  to 
rest  in  confidence  of  the  divine  mindfulness,  secure 
that  while  they  fulfilled  all  their  plain,  simple  duties 
toward  one  another,  God  would  inspire  them  to  act 
according  to  his  purposes  in  the  more  psychological 
crises  and  emergencies,  if  these  should  ever  be  part 
of  their  experience. 

In  maintaining,  on  a  certain  Sunday  evening,  that 
his  ideas  were  much  more  adapted  to  the  spiritual 
nourishment  of  the  president,  the  dean,  and  the  sev 
eral  professors  of  Hilbrook  University  than  to  that  of 
the  hereditary  Rixonites  who  nodded  in  a  slumbrous 
acceptance  of  them,  Mrs.  Ewbert  failed  as  usual  to 
rouse  her  husband  to  a  due  sense  of  his  grievance 
with  the  university  people. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  you  know  I  can't  make  them 
come,  my  dear." 

"  Of  course  not.  And  I  would  be  the  last  to  have 
you  lift  a  finger.  But  I  know  that  you  feel  about  it 
just  as  T  do." 

"  Perhaps ;  but  I  hope  not  so  much  as  you  think 
you  feel.  Of  course,  I'm  very  grateful  for  your  in 
dignation.  But  I  know  you  don't  undervalue  the 
good  I  may  do  to  my  poor  sheep — they're  not  an  in 
tellectual  flock — in  trying  to  lead  them  in  the  ways  of 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  151 

spiritual  modesty  and  unconsciousness.  How  do  we 
know  but  they  profit  more  by  my  preaching  than  the 
faculty  would?  Perhaps  our  university  friends  are 
spiritually  unconscious  enough  already,  if  not  modest." 
"  I  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Ewbert,  provis 
ionally  suspending  her  sense  of  the  whimsical  quality 
in  his  suggestion.  "  But  you  need  never  tell  me  that 
they  wouldn't  appreciate  you  more." 

"  More  than  old  Ransom  Hilbrook  ? "  he  asked. 
"  Oh,  I  hope  he  isn't  coming  here  to-night,  again  ! " 
she  implored,  with  a  nervous  leap  from  the  point  in 
question.   "  If  he's  coming  here  every  Sunday  night" — 
As  he  knew  she  wished,  her  husband  represented 
that  Hilbrook's  having  come  the  last  Sunday  night 
was  no  proof  that  he  was  going  to  make  a  habit  of  it. 
"  But  he  stayed  so  late ! "  she  insisted    from  the 
safety  of  her  real  belief  that  he  was  not  coming. 

"He  came  very  early,  though,"  said  Ewbert,  with 
a  gentle  sigh,  in  which  her  sympathetic  penetration 
detected  a  retrospective  exhaustion. 

" I  shall  tell  him  you're  not  well,"  she  went  on :  "I 
shall  tell  him  you  are  lying  down.  You  ought  to  be, 
now.  You're  perfectly  worn  out  with  that  long  walk 
you  took."  She  rose,  and  beat  up  the  sofa  pillows 
with  a  menacing  eye  upon  him. 


152  A    DIFFICULT   CASE. 

"  Oh,  I'm  very  comfortable  here,"  he  said  from  the 
depths  of  his  easy- chair.  "  Hilbrook  won't  come  to 
night.  It's  past  the  time." 

She  glanced  at  the  clock  with  him,  and  then  de 
sisted.  "  If  he  does,  I'm  determined  to  excuse  you 
somehow.  You  ought  never  to  have  gone  near  him, 
Clarence.  You've  brought  it  upon  yourself." 

Ewbert  could  not  deny  this,  though  he  did  not  feel 
himself  so  much  to  blame  for  it  as  she  would  have 
liked  to  make  out  in  her  pity  of  him.  He  owned  that 
if  he  had  never  gone  to  see  Hilbrook  the  old  man 
would  probably  never  have  come  near  them,  and  that 
if  he  had  not  tried  so  much  to  interest  him  when  he 
did  come  Hilbrook  would  not  have  stayed  so  long ; 
and  even  in  this  contrite  mind  he  would  not  allow 
that  he  ought  not  to  have  visited  him  and  ought  not 
to  have  welcomed  him. 

III. 

THE  minister  had  found  his  parishioner  in  the  old 
Hilbrook  homestead,  which  Josiah  Hilbrook,  while  he 
lived,  suffered  Hansom  Hilbrook  to  occupy,  and  when 
he  died  bequeathed  to  him,  with  a  sufficient  income 
for  all  his  simple  wants.  They  were  cousins,  and 
they  had  both  gone  out  into  the  world  about  the  same 


A   DIFFICULT   CASE.  153 

time:  one  had  made  a  success  of  it,  and  remained; 
and  the  other  had  made  a  failure  of  it,  and  come  back. 
They  were  both  Rixonites,  as  the  families  of  both  had 
been  in  the  generation  before  them.  It  could  be  sup 
posed  that  Josiah  Hilbrook,  since  he  had  given  the 
money  for  a  Rixonite  church  and  the  perpetual  pay  of 
a  Rixonite  minister  in  his  native  place,  had  died  in 
the  faith ;  and  it  might  have  been  supposed  that  Ran 
som  Hilbrook,  from  his  constant  attendance  upon  its 
services,  was  living  in  the  same  faith.  What  was 
certain  was  that  the  survivor  lived  alone  in  the  family 
homestead  on  the  slope  of  the  stony  hill  overlooking 
the  village.  The  house  was  gray  with  age,  and  it 
crouched  low  on  the  ground  where  it  had  been  built 
a  century  before,  and  anchored  fast  by  the  great  cen 
tral  chimney  characteristic  of  the  early  New  England 
farmhouse.  Below  it  staggered  the  trees  of  an  apple 
orchard  belted  in  with  a  stone  wall,  and  beside  it  sag 
ged  the  sheds  whose  stretch  united  the  gray  old  house 
to  the  gray  old  barn,  and  made  it  possible  for  Hil 
brook  to  do  his  chores  in  rain  or  snow  without  leav 
ing  cover.  There  was  a  door-yard  defined  by  a  picket 
fence,  and  near  the  kitchen  door  was  a  well  with  a 
high  pent  roof,  where  there  had  once  been  a  long 
sweep. 


154  A    DIFFICULT    CASE. 

These  simple  features  showed  to  the  village  on  the 
opposite  slope  with  a  distinctness  that  made  the  place 
seem  much  lonelier  than  if  it  had  been  much  more 
remote.  It  gained  no  cheerfulness  from  its  proximity, 
and  when  the  windows  of  the  house  lighted  up  with 
the  pale  gleam  of  the  sunset,  they  imparted  to  the 
village  a  sense  of  dreary  solitude  which  its  own  lamps 
could  do  nothing  to  relieve. 

Ransom  Hilbrook  came  and  went  among  the  vil 
lagers  in  the  same  sort  of  inaccessible  contiguity.  He 
did  not  shun  passing  the  time  of  day  with  people  he 
met;  he  was  in  and  out  at  the  grocer's,  the  meat  man's, 
the  baker's,  upon  the  ordinary  domestic  occasions; 
but  he  never  darkened  any  other  doors,  except  on  his 
visits  to  the  bank  where  he  cashed  the  checks  for  his 
quarterly  allowance.  There  had  been  a  proposition 
to  use  him  representatively  in  the  ceremonies  cele 
brating  the  acceptance  of  the  various  gifts  of  Josiah 
Hilbrook ;  but  he  had  not  lent  himself  to  this,  and 
upon  experiment  the  authorities  found  that  he  was 
right  in  his  guess  that  they  could  get  along  without 
him. 

He  had  not  said  it  surlily,  but  sadly,  and  with  a 
gentle  deprecation  of  their  insistence.  While  the 
several  monuments  that  testified  to  his  cousin's  wealth 


A    DIFFICULT   CASE.  155 

and  munificence  rose  in  the  village  beyond  the  brook, 
he  continued  in  the  old  homestead  without  change, 
except  that  when  his  housekeeper  died  he  began  to  do 
for  himself  the  few  things  that  the  ailing  and  aged 
woman  had  done  for  him.  How  he  did  them  was 
not  known,  for  he  invited  no  intimacy  from  his  neigh 
bors.  But  from  the  extent  of  his  dealings  with  the 
grocer  it  was  imagined  that  he  lived  mainly  upon 
canned  goods.  The  fish  man  paid  him  a  weekly  visit, 
and  once  a  week  he  got  from  the  meat  man  a  piece  of 
salt  pork,  which  it  was  obvious  to  the  meanest  intel 
ligence  was  for  his  Sunday  baked  beans.  From  his 
purchase  of  flour  and  baking  powder  it  was  reason 
ably  inferred  that  he  now  and  then  made  himself  hot 
biscuit.  Beyond  these  meagre  facts  everything  was 
conjecture,  in  which  the  local  curiosity  played  some 
what  actively,  but,  for  the  most  part,  with  a  growing 
acquiescence  in  the  general  ignorance  none  felt  author 
ized  to  dispel.  There  had  been  a  time  when  some 
fulfilled  a  fancied  duty  to  the  solitary  in  trying  to  see 
him.  But  the  visitors  who  found  him  out  of  doors 
were  not  asked  within,  and  were  obliged  to  dismiss 
themselves,  after  an  interview  across  the  pickets  of 
the  dooryard  fence  or  from  the  trestles  or  inverted 
feed  pails  on  which  they  were  invited  to  seats  in  the 


156  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

barn  or  shed.  Those  who  happened  to  find  their 
host  more  ceremoniously  at  home  were  allowed  to 
come  in,  but  were  received  in  rooms  so  comfortless 
from  the  drawn  blinds  or  fireless  hearths  that  they 
had  not  the  spirits  for  the  task  of  cheering  him  up 
which  they  had  set  themselves,  and  departed  in  great 
er  depression  than  that  they  left  him  to. 

IV. 

EWBERT  felt  all  the  more  impelled  to  his  own  first 
visit  by  the  fame  of  these  failures,  but  he  was  not 
hastened  in  it.  He  thought  best  to  wait  for  some 
sign  or  leading  from  Hilbrook ;  but  when  none  came, 
except  the  apparent  attention  with  which  Hilbrook 
listened  to  his  preaching,  and  the  sympathy  which  he 
believed  he  detected  at  times  in  the  old  eyes  blinking 
upon  him  through  his  sermons,  he  felt  urged  to  the 
visit  which  he  had  vainly  delayed. 

Hilbrook's  reception  was  wary  and  non-committal, 
but  it  was  by  no  means  so  grudging  as  Ewbert  had 
been  led  to  expect.  After  some  ceremonious  moments 
in  the  cold  parlor  Hilbrook  asked  him  into  the  warm 
kitchen,  where  apparently  he  passed  most  of  his  own 
time.  There  was  something  cooking  in  a  pot  on  the 
stove,  and  a  small  room  opened  out  of  the  kitchen, 


A   DIFFICULT   CASE.  157 

with  a  bed  in  it,  which  looked  as  if  it  were  going  to 
be  made,  as  Ewbert  handsomely  maintained.  There 
was  an  old  dog  stretched  on  the  hearth  behind  the 
stove,  who  whimpered  with  rheumatic  apprehension 
when  his  master  went  to  put  the  lamp  on  the  mantel 
above  him. 

In  describing  the  incident  to  his  wife  Ewbert  stop 
ped  at  this  point,  and  then  passed  on  to  say  that  after 
they  got  to  talking  Hilbrook  seemed  more  and  more 
gratified,  and  even  glad,  to  see  him. 

"  Everybody's  glad  to  see  you,  Clarence,"  she  broke 
out,  with  tender  pride.  "  But  why  do  you  say,  '  Af 
ter  we  got  to  talking '  ?  Didn't  you  go  to  talking  at 
once  ? " 

"  Well,  no,"  he  answered,  with  a  vague  smile ;  "  we 
did  a  good  deal  of  listening  at  first,  both  of  us.  I 
didn't  know  just  where  to  begin,  after  I  got  through 
my  excuses  for  coming,  and  Mr.  Hilbrook  didn't  offer 
any  opening.  Don't  you  think  he's  a  very  handsome 
old  man  ? " 

"  He  has  a  pretty  head,  and  his  close-cut  white  hair 
gives  it  a  neat  effect,  like  a  nice  child's.  He  has  a 
refined  face  ;  such  a  straight  nose  and  a  delicate  chin. 
Yes,  he  is  certainly  good-looking.  But  what " — 

"  Oh,  nothing.     Only,  all  at  once  I  realized  that  he 


158  A    DIFFICULT    CASE. 

had  a  sensitive  nature.  I  don't  know  why  I  shouldn't 
have  realized  it  before.  I  had  somehow  taken  it  for 
granted  that  he  was  a  self-conscious  hermit,  who  lived 
in  a  squalid  seclusion  because  he  liked  being  wondered 
at.  But  he  did  not  seem  to  be  anything  of  the  kind. 
I  don't  know  whether  he's  a  good  cook,  for  he  didn't 
ask  me  to  eat  anything  ;  but  I  don't  think  he's  a  bad 
housekeeper." 

"With  his  bed  unmade  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening !  " 

"  He  may  have  got  up  late,"  said  Ewbert.  "  The 
house  seemed  very  orderly,  otherwise;  and  what  is 
really  the  use  of  making  up  a  bed  till  you  need  it ! " 

Mrs.  Ewbert  passed  the  point,  and  asked,  "  What 
did  you  talk  about  when  you  got  started  ? " 

"  I  found  he  was  a  reader,  or  had  been.  There  was 
a  case  of  good  books  in  the  parlor,  and  I  began  by 
talking  with  him  about  them." 

"  Well,  what  did  he  say  about  them  ? " 

"  That  he  wasn't  interested  in  them.  He  had  been 
once,  but  he  was  not  now." 

"  I  can  understand  that,"  said  Mrs.  Ewbert  philo 
sophically.  "  Books  are  crowded  out  after  your  life 
fills  up  with  other  interests." 

"Yes." 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  159 

"  Yes,  what  ?  "  Mrs.  Ewbert  followed  him  up. 

"  So  far  as  I  could  make  out,  Mr.  Hilbrook's  life 
hadn't  filled  up  with  other  interests.  He  did  not  care 
for  the  events  of  the  day,  as  far  as  I  tried  him  on 
them,  and  he  did  not  care  for  the  past.  I  tempted 
him  with  autobiography;  but  he  seemed  quite  indif 
ferent  to  his  own  history,  though  he  was  not  reticent 
about  it.  I  proposed  the  history  of  his  cousin  in  the 
boyish  days  which  he  said  they  had  spent  together; 
but  he  seemed  no  more  interested  in  his  cousin  than 
in  himself.  Then  I  tried  his  dog  and  his  pathetic 
sufferings,  and  I  said  something  about  the  pity  of  the 
poor  old  fellow's  last  days  being  so  miserable.  That 
seemed  to  strike  a  gleam  of  interest  from  him,  and  he 
asked  me  if  I  thought  animals  might  live  again.  And 
I  found —  I  don't  know  just  how  to  put  it  so  as  to 
give  you  the  right  sense  of  his  psychological  attitude." 

"  No  matter !  Put  it  any  way,  and  I  will  take 
care  of  the  right  sense.  Go  on  !  "  said  Mrs.  Ewbert. 

"  I  found  that  his  question  led  up  to  the  question 
whether  men  lived  again,  and  to  a  confession  that  he 
didn't  or  couldn't  believe  they  did." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word  !  "  Mrs.  Ewbert  exclaimed. 
"  I  don't  see  what  business  he  has  coming  to  church, 
then.  Doesn't  he  understand  that  the  idea  of  im- 


160  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

mortality  is  the  very  essence  of  Rixonitism  ?  I  think 
it  was  personally  insulting  to  you,  Clarence.  What 
did  you  say  ? " 

"  I  didn't  take  a  very  high  hand  with  him.  You 
know  I  don't  embody  the  idea  of  immortality,  and  the 
church  is  no  bad  place  even  for  unbelievers.  The  fact 
is,  it  struck  me  as  profoundly  pathetic.  He  wasn't 
arrogant  about  it,  as  people  sometimes  are, — they 
seem  proud  of  not  believing;  but  he  was  sufficiently 
ignorant  in  his  premises.  He  said  he  had  seen  too 
many  dead  people.  You  know  he  was  in  the  civil 
war." 

"  No ! " 

"  Yes, — through  it  all.  It  came  out  on  my  asking 
him  if  he  were  going  to  the  Decoration  Day  services. 
He  said  that  the  sight  of  the  first  great  battlefield 
deprived  him  of  the  power  of  believing  in  a  life  here 
after.  He  was  not  very  explanatory,  but  as  I  under 
stood  it  the  overwhelming  presence  of  death  had 
extinguished  his  faith  in  immortality ;  the  dead  riders 
were  just  like  their  dead  horses  " — 

"  Shocking !  "  Mrs.  Ewbert  broke  in. 

"  He  said  something  went  out  of  him."  Ewbert 
waited  a  moment  before  adding:  "  It  was  very  affect 
ing,  though  Hilbrook  himself  was  as  apathetic  about 


A    DIFFICULT   CASE.  161 

it  as  he  was  about  everything  else.  He  was  not  in 
terested  in  not  believing,  even,  but  I  could  see  that  it 
had  taken  the  heart  out  of  life  for  him.  If  our  life 
here  does  not  mean  life  elsewhere,  the  interest  of  it 
must  end  with  our  activities.  When  it  comes  to  old 
age,  as  it  has  with  poor  Hilbrook,  it  has  no  meaning 
at  all,  unless  it  has  the  hope  of  more  life  in  it.  I  felt 
his  f  orlornness,  and  I  strongly  wished  to  help  him.  I 
stayed  a  long  time  talking ;  I  tried  to  interest  him  in 
the  fact  that  he  was  not  interested,  and  " — 

"Well,  what?" 

"  If  I  didn't  fatigue  Hilbrook,  I  came  away  feeling 
perfectly  exhausted  myself.  Were  you  uneasy  at  my 
being  out  so  late  ? " 

V. 

IT  was  some  time  after  the  Ewberts  had  given  up 
expecting  him  that  old  Hilbrook  came  to  return  the 
minister's  visit.  Then,  as  if  some  excuse  were  nec 
essary,  he  brought  a  dozen  eggs  in  a  paper  bag,  which 
he  said  he  hoped  Mrs.  Ewbert  could  use,  because  his 
hens  were  giving  him  more  than  he  knew  what  to  do 
with.  He  came  to  the  back  door  with  them;  but 
Mrs.  Ewbert  always  let  her  maid  of  all  work  go  out 

Sunday  evening,  and  she  could  receive  him  in  the 
L 


162  A    DIFFICULT   CASE 

kitchen  herself.  She  felt  obliged  to  make  him  the 
more  welcome  on  account  of  his  humility,  and  she 
showed  him  into  the  library  with  perhaps  exaggerated 
hospitality. 

It  was  a  chilly  evening  of  April,  and  so  early  that 
the  lamp  was  not  lighted ;  but  there  was  a  pleasant 
glow  from  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  Ewbert  made 
his  guest  sit  down  before  it.  As  he  lay  back  in  the 
easy-chair,  stretching  his  thin  old  hands  toward  the 
blaze,  the  delicacy  of  his  profile  was  charming,  and 
that  senile  parting  of  the  lips  with  which  he  listened 
reminded  Ewbert  of  his  own  father's  looks  in  his  last 
years ;  so  that  it  was  with  an  affectionate  eagerness  he 
set  about  making  Hilbrook  feel  his  presence  accepta 
ble,  when  Mrs.  Ewbert  left  them  to  finish  up  the  work 
she  had  promised  herself  not  to  leave  for  the  maid. 
It  was  much  that  Hilbrook  had  come  at  all,  and  he 
ought  to  be  made  to  realize  that  Ewbert  appreciated 
his  coming.  But  Hilbrook  seemed  indifferent  to  his 
efforts,  or  rather,  insensible  to  them,  in  the  several 
topics  that  Ewbert  advanced;  and  there  began  to  be 
pauses,  in  which  the  minister  racked  his  brain  for 
some  new  thing  to  say,  or  found  himself  saying  some 
thing  he  cared  nothing  for  in  a  voice  of  hollow  reso 
lution,  or  falling  into  commonplaces  which  he  tried  to 


A   DIFFICULT    CASE.  163 

give  vitality  by  strenuousness  of  expression.  He 
heard  his  wife  moving  about  in  the  kitchen  and  din 
ing  room,  with  a  clicking  of  spoons  and  knives  and  a 
faint  clash  of  china,  as  she  put  the  supper  things 
away,  and  he  wished  that  she  would  come  in  and 
help  him  with  old  Hilbrook;  but  he  could  not  very 
well  call  her,  and  she  kept  at  her  work,  with  no  ap 
parent  purpose  of  leaving  it. 

Hilbrook  was  a  farmer,  so  far  as  he  was  anything 
industrially,  and  Ewbert  tried  him  with  questions  of 
crops,  soils,  and  fertilizers;  but  he  tried  him  in  vain. 
The  old  man  said  he  had  never  cared  much  for  those 
things,  and  now  it  was  too  late  for  him  to  begin.  He 
generally  sold  his  grass  standing,  and  his  apples  on 
the  trees;  and  he  had  no  animals  about  the  place 
except  his  chickens, — they  took  care  of  themselves. 
Ewbert  urged,  for  the  sake  of  conversation,  even  of  a 
disputative  character,  that  poultry  were  liable  to  dis 
ease,  if  they  were  not  looked  after ;  but  Hilbrook  said, 
Not  if  there  were  not  too  many  of  them,  and  so  made 
an  end  of  that  subject.  Ewbert  desperately  suggested 
that  he  must  find  them  company, — they  seemed  socia 
ble  creatures ;  and  then,  in  his  utter  dearth,  he  asked 
how  the  old  dog  was  getting  on. 

"  Oh,  he's  dead,"  said  Hilbrook,  and  the  minister's 


164  A   DIFFICULT    CASE. 

heart  smote  him  with  a  pity  for  the  survivor's  forlorn- 
ness  which  the  old  man's  apathetic  tone  had  scarcely 
invited.  He  inquired  how  and  when  the  old  dog  had 
died,  and  said  how  much  Hilbrook  must  miss  him. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  Hilbrook  returned.  "  He 
waVt  much  comfort,  and  he's  out  of  his  misery,  any 
way."  After  a  moment  he  added,  with  a  gleam  of 
interest :  "  I've  been  thinkin',  since  he  went,  of  what 
we  talked  about  the  other  night, — I  don't  mean  ani 
mals,  but  men.  I  tried  to  go  over  what  you  said,  in 
my  own  mind,  but  I  couldn't  seem  to  make  it." 

He  lifted  his  face,  sculptured  so  fine  by  age,  and 
blinked  at  Ewbert,  who  was  glad  to  fancy  something 
appealing  in  his  words  and  manner. 

"  You  mean  as  to  a  life  beyond  this  ? " 

"Ah!" 

"  Well,  let  us  see  if  we  can't  go  over  it  together." 

Ewbert  had  forgotten  the  points  he  had  made  be 
fore,  and  he  had  to  take  up  the  whole  subject  anew. 
He  did  so  at  first  in  an  involuntarily  patronizing  con 
fidence  that  Hilbrook  was  ignorant  of  the  ground; 
but  from  time  to  time  the  old  man  let  drop  a  hint  of 
knowledge  that  surprised  the  minister.  Before  they 
had  done,  it  appeared  that  Hilbrook  was  acquainted 
with  the  literature  of  the  doctrine  of  immortality  from 


A   DIFFICULT    CASE.  165 

Plato  to  Swedenborg,  and  even  to  Mr.  John  Fiske. 
How  well  he  was  acquainted  with  it  Ewbert  could  not 
quite  make  out ;  but  he  had  recurrently  a  misgiving, 
as  if  he  were  in  the  presence  of  a  doubter  whose 
doubt  was  hopeless  through  his  knowledge.  In  this 
bleak  air  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  at  last  detected  the 
one  thing  in  which  the  old  man  felt  an  interest :  his 
sole  tie  with  the  earth  was  the  belief  that  when  he 
left  it  he  should  cease  to  be.  This  affected  Ewbert 
as  most  interesting,  and  he  set  himself,  with  all  his 
heart  and  soul,  to  dislodge  Hilbrook  from  his  deplor 
able  conviction.  He  would  not  perhaps  have  found 
it  easy  to  overcome  at  once  that  repugnance  which 
Hilbrook's  doubt  provoked  in  him,  if  it  had  been  less 
gently,  less  simply  owned.  As  it  was,  it  was  not  pos 
sible  to  deal  with  it  in  any  spirit  of  mere  authority. 
He  must  meet  it  and  overcome  it  in  terms  of  affec 
tionate  persuasion. 

It  should  not  be  difficult  to  overcome  it ;  but  Ew 
bert  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  arraying  his  reasons 
satisfactorily  against  it  when  his  wife  returned  from 
her  work  in  the  kitchen,  and  sat  down  beside  the 
library  table.  Her  coming  operated  a  total  diversion, 
in  which  Hilbrook  lapsed  into  his  apathy,  and  was 
not  to  be  roused  from  it  by  the  overtures  to  conver- 


166  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

sation  which  she  made.  He  presently  got  to  his  feet 
and  said  he  must  be  going,  against  all  her  protests 
that  it  was  very  early.  Ewbert  wished  to  walk  home 
with  him;  but  Hilbrook  would  not  suffer  this,  and 
the  minister  had  to  come  back  from  following  him  to 
the  gate,  and  watching  his  figure  lose  itself  in  the 
dark,  with  a  pang  in  his  heart  for  the  solitude  which 
awaited  the  old  man  under  his  own  roof.  He  ran 
swiftly  over  their  argument  in  his  mind,  and  ques 
tioned  himself  whether  he  had  used  him  with  unfail 
ing  tenderness,  whether  he  had  let  him  think  that  he 
regarded  him  as  at  all  reprobate  and  culpable.  He 
gave  up  the  quest  as  he  rejoined  his  wife  with  a  long, 
unconscious  sigh  that  made  her  lift  her  head. 

"  What  is  it,  Clarence  ?  " 

"  Nothing  "— 

"  You  look  perfectly  exhausted.  You  look  worried. 
Was  it  something  you  were  talking  about  ? " 

Then  he  told  her,  and  he  had  trouble  to  keep  her 
resentment  in  bounds.  She  held  that,  as  a  minister, 
he  ought  to  have  rebuked  the  wretched  creature ;  that 
it  was  nothing  short  of  offensive  to  him  for  Hilbrook 
to  take  such  a  position.  She  said  his  face  was  all 
flushed,  and  that  she  knew  he  would  not  sleep,  and 
she  should  get  him  a  glass  of  warm  milk ;  the  fire  was 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  167 

out  in  the  stove,  but  she  could  heat  it  over  the  lamp 
in  a  tin  cup. 

VI. 

HILBROOK  did  not  come  again  till  Ewbert  had  been 
to  see  him ;  and  in  the  meantime  the  minister  suffered 
from  the  fear  that  the  old  man  was  staying  away  be 
cause  of  some  hurt  which  he  had  received  in  their 
controversy.  Hilbrook  came  to  church  as  before,  and 
blinked  at  him  through  the  two  sermons  which  Ew 
bert  preached  on  significant  texts,  and  the  minister 
hoped  he  was  listening  with  a  sense  of  personal  appeal 
in  them.  He  had  not  only  sought  to  make  them  con 
vincing  as  to  the  doctrine  of  another  life,  but  he  had 
dealt  in  terms  of  loving  entreaty  with  those  who  had 
not  the  precious  faith  of  this  in  their  hearts,  and  he 
had  wished  to  convey  to  Hilbrook  an  assurance  of 
peculiar  sympathy. 

The  day  following  the  last  of  his  sermons,  Ewbert 
had  to  officiate  at  the  funeral  of  a  little  child  whose 
mother  had  been  stricken  to  the  earth  by  her  bereave 
ment.  The  hapless  creature  had  sent  for  him  again 
and  again,  and  had  clung  about  his  very  soul,  be 
seeching  him  for  assurance  that  she  should  see  her 
child  hereafter,  and  have  it  hers,  just  as  it  was,  for- 


168  A    DIFFICULT    CASE. 

ever.  He  had  not  had  the  heart  to  refuse  her  this 
consolation,  and  he  had  pushed  himself,  in  giving  it, 
beyond  the  bounds  of  imagination.  When  she  con 
fessed  her  own  inability  to  see  how  it  could  be,  and 
yet  demanded  of  him  that  it  should  be,  he  answered 
her  that  our  inability  to  realize  the  fact  had  nothing 
to  do  with  its  reality.  In  the  few  words  he  said  over 
the  little  one,  at  the  last,  he  recurred  to  this  position, 
and  urged  it  upon  all  his  hearers ;  but  in  the  moment 
of  doing  so  a  point  that  old  Hilbrook  had  made  in 
their  talk  suddenly  presented  itself.  He  experienced 
inwardly  such  a  collapse  that  he  could  not  be  sure  he 
had  spoken,  and  he  repeated  his  declaration  in  a  voice 
of  such  harsh  defiance  that  he  could  scarcely  after 
wards  bring  himself  down  to  the  meek  level  of  the 
closing  prayer. 

As  they  walked  home  together,  his  wife  asked, 
"  Why  did  you  repeat  yourself  in  that  passage,  Clar 
ence,  and  why  did  you  lift  your  voice  so  ?  It  sounded 
like  contradicting  some  one.  I  hope  you  were  not 
thinking  of  anything  that  wretched  old  man  said  ? " 

With  the  mystical  sympathy  by  which  the  wife 
divines  what  is  in  her  husband's  mind  she  had  touched 
the  truth,  and  he  could  not  deny  it.  "Yes,  yes,  I 
was,"  he  owned  in  a  sort  of  anguish,  and  she  said : — 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  169 

"  Well,  then,  I  wish  he  wouldn't  come  about  any 
more.  He  has  perfectly  obsessed  you.  I  could  see 
that  the  last  two  Sundays  you  were  preaching  right 
at  him."  He  had  vainly  hoped  she  had  not  noticed 
this,  though  he  had  not  concealed  from  her  that  his 
talk  with  Hilbrook  had  suggested  his  theme.  "  What 
are  you  going  to  do  about  him  ? "  she  pursued  relent 
lessly. 

"  I  don't  know, — I  don't  know,  indeed,"  said  Ew- 
bert ;  and  perhaps  because  he  did  not  know,  he  felt 
that  he  must  do  something,  that  he  must  at  least  not 
leave  him  to  himself.  He  hoped  that  Hilbrook  would 
come  to  him,  and  so  put  him  under  the  necessity  of 
doing  something;  but  Hilbrook  did  not  come,  and 
after  waiting  a  fortnight  Ewbert  went  to  him,  as  was 
his  duty. 

VII. 

THE  spring  had  advanced  so  far  that  there  were 
now  days  when  it  was  pleasant  to  be  out  in  the  soft 
warmth  of  the  afternoons.  The  day  when  Ewbert 
climbed  to  the  Hilbrook  homestead  it  was  even  a  lit 
tle  hot,  and  he  came  up  to  the  dooryard  mopping  his 
forehead  with  his  handkerchief,  and  glad  of  the  south 
western  breeze  which  he  caught  at  this  point  over  the 


1TO  A    DIFFICULT    CASE. 

shoulder  of  the  hill.  He  had  expected  to  go  round 
to  the  side  door  of  the  house,  where  he  had  parted 
with  Hilbrook  on  his  former  visit ;  but  he  stopped  on 
seeing  the  old  man  at  his  front  door,  where  he  was 
looking  vaguely  at  a  mass  of  Spanish  willow  fallen 
dishevelled  beside  it,  as  if  he  had  some  thought  of 
lifting  its  tangled  spray.  The  sun  shone  on  his  bare 
head,  and  struck  silvery  gleams  from  his  close-cropped 
white  hair;  there  was  something  uncommon  in  his 
air,  though  his  dress  was  plain  and  old-fashioned ;  and 
Ewbert  wished  that  his  wife  were  there  to  share  his 
impression  of  distinction  in  Hilbrook's  presence. 

He  turned  at  Ewbert's  cheerful  hail,  and  after  a 
moment  of  apparent  uncertainty  as  to  who  he  was,  he 
came  down  the  walk  of  broken  brick  and  opened  the 
gate  to  his  visitor. 

"  I  was  just  out,  looking  round  at  the  old  things," 
he  said,  with  an  effort  of  apology.  "  This  sort  of 
weather  is  apt  to  make  fools  of  us.  It  gets  into  our 
heads,  and  before  we  know  we  feel  as  if  we  had  some 
thing  to  do  with  the  season." 

"Perhaps  we  have,"  said  the  minister.  "The 
spring  is  in  us,  too." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "  It  was  once,  when 
we  were  children ;  now  there's  what  we  remember  of 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  171 

it.  We  like  to  make  believe  about  it, — that's  natural ; 
and  it's  natural  we  should  make  believe  that  there  is 
going  to  be  a  spring  for  us  somewhere  else  like  what 
we  see  for  the  grass  and  bushes,  here,  every  year ;  but 
I  guess  not.  A  tree  puts  out  its  leaves  every  spring ; 
but  by  and  by  the  tree  dies,  and  then  it  doesn't  put 
out  its  leaves  any  more." 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Ewbert,  "  and  I  allow 
that  there  is  no  real  analogy  between  our  life  and  that 
of  the  grass  and  bushes ;  yet  somehow  I  feel  strength 
ened  in  my  belief  in  the  hereafter  by  each  renewal  of 
the  earth's  life.  It  isn't  a  proof,  it  isn't  a  promise  ; 
but  it's  a  suggestion,  an  intimation." 

They  were  in  the  midst  of  a  great  question,  and 
they  sat  down  on  the  decaying  doorstep  to  have  it 
out ;  Hilbrook  having  gone  in  for  his  hat  and  come 
out  again,  with  its  soft  wide  brim  shading  his  thin 
face,  frosted  with  half  a  week's  beard. 

"  But  character,"  the  minister  urged  at  a  certain 
point, — "  what  becomes  of  character  ?  You  may  sup 
pose  that  life  can  be  lavished  by  its  Origin  in  the  im 
measurable  superabundance  which  we  see  in  nature,, 
But  character, — that  is  a  different  thing ;  that  cannot 
die." 

"  The  beasts  that  perish  have  character ;  my  old 


172  A    DIFFICULT    CASE. 

dog  had.  Some  are  good  and  some  bad  ;  they're  kind 
and  they're  ugly." 

"  Ah,  excuse  me  !  That  isn't  character ;  that's  tem 
perament.  Men  have  temperament,  too;  but  the 
beasts  haven't  character.  Doesn't  that  fact  prove 
something, — or  no,  not  prove,  but  give  us  some  rea 
sonable  expectation  of  a  hereafter  ?  " 

Hilbrook  did  not  say  anything  for  a  moment.  He 
broke  a  bit  of  fragrant  spray  from  the  flowering  cur 
rant — which  guarded  the  doorway  on  his  side  of  the 
steps ;  Ewbert  sat  next  the  Spanish  willow — and  softly 
twisted  the  stem  between  his  thumb  and  finger. 

"  Ever  hear  how  I  came  to  leave  Hilbrook, — West 
Mallow,  as  it  was  then  ? "  he  asked  at  last. 

Ewbert  was  forced  to  own  that  he  had  heard  a 
story,  but  he  said,  mainly  in  Hilbrook's  interest,  that 
he  had  not  paid  much  attention  to  it. 

"  Thought  there  wa'n't  much  in  it  ?  Well,  that's 
right,  generally  speakin'.  Folks  like  to  make  up 
stories  about  a  man  that  lives  alone  like  me,  here  ;  and 
they  usually  get  in  a  disappointment.  I  ain't  goin'  to 
go  over  it.  I  don't  care  any  more  about  it  now  than 
if  it  had  happened  to  somebody  else  ;  but  it  did  bap- 
pen.  Josiah  got  the  girl,  and  I  didn't.  I  presume 
they  like  to  make  out  that  I've  grieved  over  it  ever 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  173 

since.  Sho !  It's  forty  years  since  I  gave  it  a  thought, 
that  way."  A  certain  contemptuous  indignation  sup 
planted  the  wonted  gentleness  of  the  old  man,  as  if  he 
spurned  the  notion  of  such  sentimental  folly.  "  I've 
read  of  folks  mournin'  all  their  lives  through,  and  in 
their  old  age  goin'  back  to  a  thing  like  that,  as  if  it 
still  meant  somethin'.  But  it  ain't  true  ;  I  don't  sup 
pose  I  care  any  more  for  losin'  her  now  than  Josiah 
would  for  gettin'  her  if  he  was  alive.  It  did  make  a 
difference  for  a  while ;  I  ain't  goin'  to  deny  that.  It 
lasted  me  four  or  five  years,  in  all,  I  guess ;  but  I  was 
married  to  somebody  else  when  I  went  to  the  war," 
— Ewbert  controlled  a  start  of  surprise ;  he  had  al 
ways  taken  it  for  granted  that  Hilbrook  was  a  bache 
lor, — "  and  we  had  one  child.  So  you  may  say  that 
I  was  well  over  that  first  thing.  It  wore  out ;  and  if 
it  wa'n't  that  it  makes  me  mad  to  have  folks  believin' 
that  I'm  sufferin'  from  it  yet,  I  presume  I  shouldn't 
think  of  it  from  one  year's  end  to  another.  My  wife 
and  I  always  got  on  well  together;  she  was  a  good 
woman.  She  died  when  I  was  away  at  the  war,  and 
the  little  boy  died  after  I  got  back.  I  was  sorry  to 
lose  her,  and  I  thought  losin'  him  would  kill  me.  It 
didn't.  It  appeared  one  while  as  if  I  couldn't  live 
without  him,  and  I  was  always  contrivin'  how  I  should 


174:  A    DIFFICULT    CASE. 

meet  up  with  him  somewhere  else.  I  couldn't  figure 
it  out." 

Hilbrook  stopped,  and  swallowed  dryly.  Ewbert 
noticed  how  he  had  dropped  more  and  more  into  the 
vernacular,  in  these  reminiscences;  in  their  contro 
versies  he  had  used  the  language  of  books  and  had 
spoken  like  a  cultivated  man,  but  now  he  was  simply 
and  touchingly  rustic. 

"  Well,"  he  resumed,  "  that  wore  out,  too.  I  went 
into  business,  and  I  made  money  and  I  lost  it.  I 
went  through  all  that  experience,  and  I  got  enough  of 
it,  just  as  I  got  enough  of  fightin'.  I  guess  I  was  no 
worse  scared  than  the  rest  of  'em,  but  when  it  came 
to  the  end  I'd  'bout  made  up  my  mind  that  if  there 
was  another  war  I'd  go  to  Canady ;  I  was  sick  of  it, 
and  I  was  sick  of  business  even  before  I  lost  money. 
I  lost  pretty  much  everything.  Josiah — he  was  al 
ways  a  good  enough  friend  of  mine — wanted  me  to 
start  in  again,  and  he  offered  to  back  me,  but  I  said 
no.  I  said  if  he  wanted  to  do  something  for  me,  he 
could  let  me  come  home  and  live  on  the  old  place, 
here  ;  it  wouldn't  cost  him  anything  like  so  much,  and 
it  would  be  a  safer  investment.  He  agreed,  and  here 
I  be,  to  make  a  long  story  short." 

Ililbrook  had  stiffened  more  and  more,  as  he  went 


A    DIFFICULT  CASE.  175 

on,  in  the  sort  of  defiance  he  had  put  on  when  he  first 
began  to  speak  of  himself,  and  at  the  end  of  his  con 
fidence  Ewbert  did  not  venture  any  comment.  His 
forbearance  seemed  to  leave  the  old  man  freer  to  re 
sume  at  the  point  where  he  had  broken  off,  and  he 
did  so  with  something  of  lingering  challenge. 

u  You  asked  me  just  now  why  I  didn't  think  char 
acter,  as  we  call  it,  gave  us  some  right  to  expect  a  life 
after  this.  Well,  I'll  try  to  tell  you.  I  consider  that 
I've  been  the  rounds,  as  you  may  say,  and  that  I've 
got  as  much  character  as  most  men.  I've  had  about 
everything  in  my  life  that  most  have,  and  a  great  deal 
more  than  some.  I've  seen  that  everything  wears 
out,  and  that  when  a  thing's  worn  out  it's  for  good 
and  all.  I  think  it's  reasonable  to  suppose  that  when 
I  wear  out  it  will  be  for  good  and  all,  too.  There 
isn't  anything  of  us,  as  I  look  at  it,  except  the  poten 
tiality  of  experiences.  The  experiences  come  through 
the  passions  that  you  can  tell  on  the  fingers  of  one 
hand :  love,  hate,  hope,  grief,  and  you  may  say  greed 
for  the  thumb.  When  you've  had  them,  that's  the 
end  of  it;  you've  exhausted  your  capacity;  you're 
used  up,  and  so's  your  character, — that  often  dies  be 
fore  the  body  does." 
.  "  No,  no  !  "  Ewbert  protested.  "  Human  capacity 


176  A   DIFFICULT    CASE. 

is  infinite  ; "  but  even  while  he  spoke  this  seemed  to 
him  a  contradiction  in  terms.  "  I  mean  that  thA  pas 
sions  renew  themselves  with  new  occasions,  new  op 
portunities,  and  character  grows  continually.  You 
have  loved  twice,  you  have  grieved  twice ;  in  battle 
you  hated  more  than  once ;  in  business  you  must  have 
coveted  many  times.  Under  different  conditions,  the 
passions,  the  potentiality  of  experiences,  will  have  a 
pristine  strength.  Can't  you  see  it  in  that  light? 
Can't  you  draw  some  hope  from  that  ? " 

"  Hope !  "  cried  Ransom  Hilbrook,  lifting  his  fallen 
head  and  staring  at  the  minister.  "  Why,  man,  you 
don't  suppose  I  ivant  to  live  hereafter  ?  Do  you  think 
I'm  anxious  to  have  it  all  over  again,  or  any  of  it  ?  Is 
that  why  you've  been  trying  to  convince  me  of  im 
mortality  ?  I  know  there's  something  in  what  you 
say, — more  than  what  you  realize.  I've  argued  anni 
hilation  up  to  this  point  and  that,  and  almost  proved 
it  to  my  own  mind ;  but  there's  always  some  point 
that  I  can't  quite  get  over.  If  I  had  the  certainty,  the 
absolute  certainty,  that  this  was  all  there  was  to  be  of 
it,  I  wouldn't  want  to  live  an  hour  longer,  not  a  min 
ute  !  But  it's  the  uncertainty  that  keeps  me.  What 
I'm  afraid  of  is,  that  if  I  get  out  of  it  here,  I  might 
wake  up  in  my  old  identity,  with  the  potentiality  of 


A   DIFFICULT   CASE.  177 

new  experiences  in  new  conditions.  That's  it.  I'm 
tired.  I've  had  enough.  I  want  to  be  let  alone.  I 
don't  want  to  do  anything  more,  or  have  anything 
more  done  to  me.  I  want  to  stop." 

Ewbert's  first  impression  was  that  he  was  shocked ; 
but  he  was  too  honest  to  remain  in  this  conventional 
assumption.  He  was  profoundly  moved,  however,  and 
intensely  interested.  lie  realized  that  Hilbrook  was 
perfectly  sincere,  and  he  could  put  himself  in  the  old 
man's  place,  and  imagine  why  he  should  feel  as  he 
did.  Ewbert  blamed  himself  for  not  having  conceived 
of  such  a  case  before ;  and  he  saw  that  if  he  were  to 
do  anything  for  this  lonely  soul,  he  must  begin  far 
back  of  the  point  from  which  he  had  started  with  him. 
The  old  man's  position  had  a  kind  of  dignity  which 
did  not  admit  of  the  sort  of  pity  Ewbert  had  been 
feeling  for  him,  and  the  minister  had  before  him  the 
difficult  and  delicate  task  of  persuading  Hilbrook,  not 
that  a  man,  if  he  died,  should  live  again,  but  that  he 
should  live  upon  terms  so  kind  and  just  that  none  of 
the  fortuities  of  mortal  life  should  be  repeated  in  that 
immortality.  He  must  show  the  immortal  man  to  be 
a  creature  so  happily  conditioned  that  he  would  be 
in  effect  newly  created,  before  Hilbrook  would  con 
sent  to  accept  the  idea  of  living  again.  He  might  say 
M 


178  A   DIFFICULT    CASE. 

to  him  that  he  would  probably  not  be  consulted  in 
the  matter,  since  he  had  not  been  consulted  as  to  his 
existence  here ;  but  such  an  answer  would  brutally 
ignore  the  claim  that  such  a  man's  developed  con 
sciousness  could  justly  urge  to  some  share  in  the 
counsels  of  omnipotence.  Ewbert  did  not  know  where 
to  begin,  and  in  his  despair  he  began  with  a  laugh. 

"Upon  my  word,"  he  said,  "you've  presented  a 
problem  that  would  give  any  casuist  pause,  and  it's 
beyond  my  powers  without  some  further  thought. 
Your  doubt,  as  I  now  understand  it,  is  not  of  immor 
tality,  but  of  mortality  ;  and  there  I  can't  meet  you  in 
argument  without  entirely  forsaking  my  own  ground. 
If  it  will  not  seem  harsh,  I  will  confess  that  your 
doubt  is  rather  consoling  to  me  ;  for  I  have  so  much 
faith  in  the  Love  which  rules  the  world  that  I  am  per 
fectly  willing  to  accept  reexistence  on  any  terms  that 
Love  may  offer.  You  may  say  that  this  is  because  I 
have  not  yet  exhausted  the  potentialities  of  experience, 
and  am  still  interested  in  my  own  identity ;  and  one 
half  of  this,  at  least,  I  can't  deny.  But  even  if  it 
were  otherwise,  I  should  trust  to  find  among  those 
Many  Mansions  which  we  are  told  of  some  chamber 
where  I  should  be  at  rest  without  being  annihilated ; 
and  I  can  even  imagine  my  being  glad  to  do  any  sort 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  179 

of  work  about  the  House,  when  I  was  tired  of  rest 
ing." 

VIII. 

"  I  AM  glad  you  said  that  to  him  !  "  cried  Ewbert's 
wife,  when  he  told  her  of  his  interview  with  old  Hil- 
brook.  "That  will  give  him  something  to  think 
about.  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

Ewbert  had  been  less  and  less  satisfied  with  his 
reply  to  Hilbrook,  in  which  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
had  passed  from  mockery  to  reproof,  with  no  great 
credit  to  himself ;  and  his  wife's  applause  now  set  the 
seal  to  his  displeasure  with  it. 

"  Oh,  he  said  simply  that  he  could  understand  a 
younger  person  feeling  differently,  and  that  he  did 
not  wish  to  set  himself  up  as  a  censor.  But  he  could 
not  pretend  that  he  was  glad  to  have  been  called  out 
of  nonentity  into  being,  and  that  he  could  imagine 
nothing  better  than  eternal  unconsciousness." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  I  told  him  that  his  very  words  implied  the  refusal 
of  his  being  to  accept  nonentity  again  ;  that  'they  ex 
pressed,  or  adumbrated,  the  conception  of  an  eternal 
consciousness  of  the  eternal  unconsciousness  he  im 
agined  himself  longing  for.  I'm  not  so  sure  they  did, 


180  A    DIFFICULT    CASE. 

"  Of  course  they  did.     And  then  what  did  he  say  ? " 

"  He  said  nothing  in  direct  reply ;  he  sighed,  and 
dropped  his  poor  old  head  on  his  breast,  and  seemed 
very  tired ;  so  that  I  tried  talking  of  other  things  for 
a  while,  and  then  I  came  away.  Emily,  I'm  afraid  I 
wasn't  perfectly  candid,  perfectly  kind,  with  him." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  have  been  more  so  ! " 
she  retorted,  in  tender  indignation  with  him  against 
himself.  "  And  I  think  what  he  said  was  terrible. 
It  was  bad  enough  for  him  to  pretend  to  believe  that 
he  was  not  going  to  live  again,  but  for  him  to  tell  you 
that  he  was  afraid  he  was  !  "  An  image  sufficiently 
monstrous  to  typify  Hilbrook's  wickedness  failed  to 
present  itself  to  Mrs.  Ewbert,  and  she  went  out  to 
give  the  maid  instructions  for  something  unusually 
nourishing  for  Ewbert  at  their  midday  dinner.  "  You 
look  fairly  fagged  out,  Clarence,"  she  said,  when  she 
came  back ;  "  and  I  insist  upon  your  not  going  up  to 
that  dreadful  old  man's  again, — at  least,  not  till 
you've  got  over  this  shock." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  it  has  affected  me  seriously," 
he  returned  lightly. 

"  Yes,  it  has  !  yes,  it  has  ! "  she  declared.  "  It's 
just  like  your  thinking  you  hadn't  taken  cold,  the 
other  day  when  you  were  caught  in  the  rain ;  and  the 


A   DIFFICULT    CASE.  181 

next  morning  you  got  up  with  a  sore  throat,  and  it 
was  Sunday  morning,  too." 

Ewbert  could  not  deny  this,  and  he  had  no  great 
wish  to  see  Hilbrook  soon  again.  He  consented  to 
wait  for  Hilbrook  to  come  to  him,  before  trying  to 
satisfy  these  scruples  of  conscience  which  he  had 
hinted  at ;  and  he  reasonably  hoped  that  the  painful 
points  would  cease  to  rankle  with  the  lapse  of  time,  if 
there  should  be  a  long  interval  before  they  met. 

That  night,  before  the  Ewberts  had  finished  their 
tea,  there  came  a  ring  at  the  door,  from  which  Mrs. 
Ewbert  disconsolately  foreboded  a  premature  evening 
call.  "And  just  when  I  was  counting  on  a  long, 
quiet,  restful  time  for  you,  and  getting  you  to  bed 
early !  "  she  lamented  in  undertone  to  her  husband ; 
to  the  maid  who  passed  through  the  room  with  an 
inquiring  glance,  to  the  front  door,  she  sighed,  still  in 
undertone,  "  Oh  yes,  of  course  we're  at  home" 

They  both  listened  for  the  voice  at  the  door,  to 
make  out  who  was  there ;  but  the  voice  was  so  low 
that  they  were  still  in  ignorance  while  the  maid  was 
showing  the  visitor  into  the  library,  and  until  she 
came  back  to  them. 

"It's  that  old  gentleman  who  lives  all  alone  by 
himself  on  the  hill  over  the  brook,"  she  explained ; 


182  A    DIFFICULT   CASE. 

and  Mrs.  Ewbert  rose  with  an  air  of  authority,  waving 
her  husband  to  keep  his  seat. 

"  Now,  Clarence,  I  am  simply  not  going  to  let  you 
go  in.  You  are  sick  enough  as  it  is,  and  if  you  are 
going  to  let  that  awful  old  man  spend  the  whole  even 
ing  here,  and  drain  the  life  out  of  you !  1  will  see 
him,  and  tell  him" — 

"  No,  no,  Emily !  It  won't  do.  I  must  see  him. 
It  isn't  true  that  I'm  sick.  He's  old,  and  he  has  a 
right  to  the  best  we  can  do  for  him.  Think  of  his 
loneliness !  I  shall  certainly  not  let  you  send  him 
away."  Ewbert  was  excitedly  gulping  his  second  cup 
of  tea ;  he  pushed  his  chair  back,  and  flung  his  nap 
kin  down  as  he  added,  "  You  can  come  in,  too,  and 
see  that  I  get  off  alive." 

"  I  shall  not  come  near  you,"  she  answered  resent 
fully  ;  but  Ewbert  had  not  closed  the  door  behind 
him,  and  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  listen. 

IX. 

MRS.  EWBERT  heard  old  Hilbrook  begin  at  once  in 
a  high  senile  key  without  any  form  of  response  to  her 
husband's  greeting :  "  There  was  one  thing  you  said 
to-day  that  I've  been  thinkin'  over,  ancl  I've  come 
down  to  talk  with  you  about  it." 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  183 

"  Yes  ?  "  Ewbert  queried  submissively,  though  he 
was  aware  of  being  quite  as  fagged  as  his  wife  accused 
him  of  being,  after  he  spoke. 

"  Yes,"  Hilbrook  returned.  "  I  guess  I  haVt  been 
exactly  up  and  down  with  myself.  I  guess  I've  been 
playing  fast  and  loose  with  myself.  I  guess  you're 
right  about  my  wantin'  to  have  enough  consciousness 
to  enjoy  my  unconsciousness,"  and  the  old  gentleman 
gave  a  laugh  of  rather  weird  enjoyment.  "  There  are 
things,"  he  resumed  seriously,  "  that  are  deeper  in  us 
than  anything  we  call  ourselves.  I  supposed  I  had 
gone  to  the  bottom,  but  I  guess  I  hadn't.  All  the 
while  there  was  something  down  there  that  I  hadn't 
got  at ;  but  you  reached  it  and  touched  it,  and  now 
I  know  it's  there.  I  don't  know  but  it's  my  Soul 
that's  been  havin'  its  say  all  the  time,  and  me  not 
listenin'.  I  guess  you  made  your  point." 

Ewbert  was  still  not  so  sure  of  that.  He  had 
thrown  out  that  hasty  suggestion  without  much  faith 
in  it  at  the  time,  and  his  faith  in  it  had  not  grown 
since. 

"  I'm  glad,"  he  began,  but  Hilbrook  pressed  on  as 
if  he  had  not  spoken. 

"  I  guess  we're  built  like  an  onion,"  he  said,  with 
a  severity  that  forbade  Ewbert  to  feel  anything  un- 


184  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

dignified  in  the  homely  illustration.  "  You  can  strip 
away  layer  after  layer  till  you  seem  to  get  to  nothing 
at  all ;  but  when  you've  got  to  that  nothing  you've 
got  to  the  very  thing  that  had  the  life  in  it,  and  that 
would  have  grown  again  if  you  had  put  it  in  the 
ground." 

"  Exactly  !  "  said  Ewbert. 

"  You  made  a  point  that  I  can't  get  round,"  Hil- 
brook  continued,  and  it  was  here  that  Ewbert  enjoyed 
a  little  instant  of  triumph.  "  But  that  ain't  the  point 
with  me.  I  see  that  I  can't  prove  that  we  shan't  live 
again  any  more  than  you  can  prove  that  we  shall. 
What  I  want  you  to  do  now  is  to  convince  me,  or  to 
give  me  the  least  reason  to  believe,  that  we  shan't  live 
again  on  exactly  the  same  terms  that  we  live  now.  I 
don't  want  to  argue  immortality  any  more ;  we'll  take 
that  for  granted.  But  how  is  it  going  to  be  any  dif 
ferent  from  mortality  with  the  hope  of  death  taken 
away?" 

Hilbrook's  apathy  was  gone,  and  his  gentleness ;  he 
had  suddenly  an  air  and  tone  of  fierce  challenge.  As 
he  spoke  he  brought  a  clenched  fist  down  on  the  arm 
of  his  chair;  he  pushed  his  face  forward  and  fixed 
Ewbert  with  the  vitreous  glitter  of  his  old  eyes.  Ew 
bert  found  him  terrible,  and  he  had  a  confused  sense 


A   DIFFICULT    CASE.  185 

of  responsibility  for  him,  as  if  he  had  spiritually  con 
stituted  him,  in  the  charnel  of  unbelief,  out  of  the 
spoil  of  death,  like  some  new  and  fearfuler  figment 
of  Frankenstein's.  But  if  he  had  fortuitously  reached 
him,  through  the  one  insincerity  of  his  being,  and 
bidden  him  live  again  forever,  he  must  not  forsake 
him  or  deny  him. 

"  I  don't  know  how  far  you  accept  or  reject  the 
teachings  of  Scripture  on  this  matter,"  he  began  rather 
vaguely,  but  Hilbrook  stopped  him. 

"  You  didn't  go  to  the  Book  for  the  point  you  made 
against  me.  But  if  you  go  to  it  now  for  the  point  I 
want  you  to  make  for  me,  what  are  you  going  to  find  ? 
Are  you  going  to  find  the  promise  of  a  life  any  differ 
ent  from  the  life  we  have  here  ?  I  accept  it  all, — all 
that  the  Old  Testament  says,  and  all  that  the  New 
Testament  says ;  and  what  does  it  amount  to  on  this 
point  ? " 

"  Nothing  but  the  assurance  that  if  we  live  rightly 
here  we  shall  be  happy  in  the  keeping  of  the  divine 
Love  there.  That  assurance  is  everything  to  me." 

"  It  isn't  to  me  !  "  cried  the  old  man.  "  We  are  in 
the  keeping  of  the  divine  Love  here,  too,  and  are  we 
happy?  Are  those  who  live  rightly  happy?  It's 
because  we're  not  conditioned  for  happiness  here  ;  and 


186  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

how  are  we  going  to  be  conditioned  differently  there  ? 
We  are  going  to  suffer  to  all  eternity  through  our 
passions,  our  potentialities  of  experience,  there  just 
as  we  do  here." 

"  There  may  he  other  passions,  other  potentialities 
of  experience,"  Ewbert  suggested,  casting  about  in 
the  void. 

"Like  what?"  Hilbrook  demanded.  "  I've  been 
trying  to  figure  it,  and  I  can't.  I  should  like  you  to 
try  it.  You  can't  imagine  a  new  passion  in  the  soul 
any  more  than  you  can  imagine  a  new  feature  in  the 
face.  There  they  are :  eyes,  ears,  nose,  mouth,  chin ; 
love,  hate,  greed,  hope,  fear !  You  can't  add  to  them 
or  take  away  from  them."  The  old  man  dropped 
from  his  defiance  in  an  entreaty  that  was  even  more 
terrible  to  Ewbert.  "  I  wish  you  could.  I  should 
like  to  have  you  try.  Maybe  I  haven't  been  over  the 
whole  ground.  Maybe  there's  some  principle  that 
I've  missed."  He  hitched  his  chair  closer  to  Ew- 
bert's,  and  laid  some  tremulous  fingers  on  the  minis 
ter's  sleeve.  "  If  I've  got  to  live  forever,  what  have 
I  got  to  live  for  ? " 

"  Well,"  said  Ewbert,  meeting  him  fully  in  his  hu 
mility,  "  let  us  try  to  make  it  out  together.  Let  us 
think  Apparently,  our  way  has  brought  us  to  a 


A   DIFFICULT   CASE.  187 

dead  wall ;  but  I  believe  there's  light  beyond  it,  if  we 
can  only  break  through.  Is  it  really  necessary  that 
we  should  discover  some  new  principle  ?  Do  we  know 
all  that  love  can  do  from  our  experience  of  it  here  ? " 

"  Have  you  seen  a  mother  with  her  child  ? "  Hil- 
brook  retorted. 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  even  that  has  some  alloy  of 
selfishness.  Can't  we  imagine  love  in  which  there  is 
no, greed, — for  greed,  and  not  hate,  is  the  true  anti 
thesis  of  love  which  is  all  giving,  while  greed  is  all 
getting, — a  love  that  is  absolutely  pure  ? " 

"  I  can't,"  said  the  old  man.  "  All  the  love  I  ever 
felt  had  greed  in  it ;  I  wanted  to  keep  the  thing  I 
loved  for  myself." 

"  Yes,  because  you  were  afraid  in  the  midst  of  your 
love.  It  was  fear  that  alloyed  it,  not  greed.  And  in 
easily  imaginable  conditions  in  which  there  is  no  fear 
of  want,  or  harm,  or  death,  love  would  be  pure ;  for  it 
is  these  things  that  greed  itself  wants  to  save  us  from. 
You  can  imagine  conditions  in  which  there  shall  be 
no  fear,  in  which  love  casteth  out  fear  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Hilbrook  provisionally. 

Ewbert  had  not  thought  of  these  points  himself  be 
fore,  and  he  was  pleased  with  his  discovery,  though 
afterwards  lie  was  aware  that  it  was  something  li 


188  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

an  intellectual  juggle.  "You  see,"  he  temporized, 
"  we  have  got  rid  of  two  of  the  passions  already,  fear 
and  greed,  which  are  the  potentialities  of  our  unhap- 
piest  experience  in  this  life.  In  fact,  we  have  got  rid 
of  three,  for  without  fear  and  greed  men  cannot  hate." 

"  But  how  can  we  exist  without  them  ?  "  Hilbrook 
urged.  "  Shall  we  be  made  up  of  two  passions, — of 
love  and  hope  alone  ? " 

"  Why  not  ? "  Ewbert  returned,  with  what  he  felt 
a  specious  brightness. 

"  Because  we  should  not  be  complete  beings  with 
these  two  elements  alone." 

"  Ah,  as  we  know  ourselves  here,  I  grant  you,"  said 
the  minister,  "  But  why  should  we  not  be  far  more 
simply  constituted  somewhere  else  ?  Have  you  ever 
read  Isaac  Taylor's  Physical  Theory  of  another  Life  ? 
He  argues  that  the  immortal  body  would  be  a  far  less 
complex  mechanism  than  the  mortal  body.  Why 
should  not  the  immortal  soul  be  simple,  too  ?  In 
fact,  it  would  necessarily  be  so,  being  one  with  the 
body.  I  think  I  can  put  my  hand  on  that  book,  and 
if  I  can  I  must  make  you  take  it  with  you." 

He  rose  briskly  from  his  chair,  and  went  to  the 
shelves,  running  his  fingers  along  the  books  with  that 
subtlety  of  touch  by  which  the  student  knows  a  given 


A   DIFFICULT   CASE.  189 

book  in  the  dark.  He  had  heard  Mrs.  Ewbert  stirring 
about  in  the  rooms  beyond  with  an  activity  in  which 
he  divined  a  menacing  impatience;  and  he  would 
have  been  glad  to  get  rid  of  old  Hilbrook  before  her 
impatience  burst  in  an  irruption  upon  them.  Perhaps 
because  of  this  distraction  he  could  not  find  the  book, 
but  he  remained  on  foot,  talking  with  an  implication 
in  his  tone  that  they  were  both  preparing  to  part,  and 
were  now  merely  finishing  off  some  odds  and  ends  of 
discourse  before  they  said  good-night. 

Old  Hilbrook  did  not  stir.  He  was  far  too  sincere 
a  nature,  Ewbert  saw,  to  conceive  of  such  inhospital- 
ity  as  a  hint  for  his  departure,  or  he  was  too  deeply 
interested  to  be  aware  of  it.  The  minister  was  obliged 
to  sit  down  again,  and  it  was  eleven  o'clock  before 
Hilbrook  rose  to  go. 

X. 

EWBERT  went  out  to  the  gate  with  the  old  man,  and 
when  he  came  back  to  his  study,  he  found  his  wife 
there  looking  strangely  tall  and  monumental  in  her 
reproach.  "  I  supposed  you  were  in  bed  long  ago, 
my  dear,"  he  attempted  lightly. 

"  You  don't  mean  that  you've  been  out  in  the  night 
air  without  your  hat  on !  "  she  returned.  "  Well,  this  is 


190  A   DIFFICULT  CASE. 

too  much/"  Her  long-pent-up  impatience  broke  in 
tears,  and  he  strove  in  vain  to  comfort  her  with  ca 
resses.  "  Oh,  what  a  fatal  day  it  was  when  you  stirred 
that  wretched  old  creature  up !  F  hy  couldn't  you  leave 
him  alone ! " 

"  To  his  apathy  ?  To  his  despair  ?  Emily  ! "  Ew- 
bert  dropped  his  arms  from  the  embrace  in  which  he 
had  folded  her  woodenly  unresponsive  frame,  and  re 
garded  her  sadly. 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course/'  she  answered,  rubbing  her 
handkerchief  into  her  eyes.  "  But  you  don't  know 
that  it  was  despair ;  and  he  was  quite  happy  in  his 
apathy ;  and  as  it  is,  you've  got  him  on  your  hands ; 
and  if  he's  going  to  come  here  every  night  and  stay 
till  morning,  it  will  kill  you.  You  know  you're  not 
strong ;  and  you  get  so  excited  when  you  sit  up  talk 
ing.  Look  how  flushed  your  cheeks  are,  now,  and 
your  eyes — as  big  !  You  won't  sleep  a  wink  to-night, 
— I  know  you  won't." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  shall,"  he  answered  bravely.  "  I  be 
lieve  I've  done  some  good  work  with  poor  old  Hil- 
brook ;  and  you  mustn't  think  he's  tired  me.  I  feel 
fresher  than  I  did  when  he  came." 

"  It's  because  you're  excited,"  she  persisted.  "  I 
know  you  won't  sleep." 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  191 

"  Yes,  I  shall.  I  shall  just  stay  here,  and  read  my 
nerves  down  a  little.  Then  I'll  come." 

"  Oh  yes  !  "  Mrs.  Ewbert  exulted  disconsolately, 
and  she  left  him  to  his  book.  She  returned  to  say : 
"  If  you  must  take  anything  to  make  you  sleepy,  I've 
left  some  warm  milk  on  the  back  of  the  stove.  Prom 
ise  me  you  won't  take  any  sulphonal !  You  know 
how  you  feel  the  next  day  ! " 

"  No,  no,  I  won't,"  said  Ewbert ;  and  he  kept  his 
word,  with  the  effect  of  remaining  awake  all  night. 
Toward  morning  he  did  not  know  but  he  had  drowsed ; 
he  was  not  aware  of  losing  consciousness,  and  he 
started  from  his  drowse  with  the  word  "  conscious 
ness  "  in  his  mind,  as  he  had  heard  Hilbrook  speak 
ing  it. 

XI. 

THROUGHOUT  the  day,  under  his  wife's  watchful 
eye,  he  failed  of  the  naps  he  tried  for,  and  he  had  to 
own  himself  as  haggard,  when  night  came  again,  as 
the  fondest  anxiety  of  a  wife  could  pronounce  a  hus 
band.  He  could  not  think  of  his  talk  with  old  Hil 
brook  without  an  anguish  of  brain  exhaustion  ;  and 
yet  he  could  not  help  thinking  of  it.  He  realized 
what  the  misery  of  mere  weakness  must  be,  and  the 


192  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

horror  of  not  having  the  power  to  rest.  He  wished 
to  go  to  bed  before  the  hour  when  Hilbrook  commonly 
appeared,  but  this  was  so  early  that  Ewbert  knew  he 
should  merely  toss  about  and  grow  more  and  more 
wakeful  from  his  premature  effort  to  sleep.  He  trem 
bled  at  every  step  outside,  and  at  the  sound  of  feet 
approaching  the  door  on  the  short  brick  walk  from 
the  gate,  he  and  his  wife  arrested  themselves  with 
their  teacups  poised  in  the  air.  Ewbert  was  aware  of 
feebly  hoping  the  feet  might  go  away  again ;  but  the 
bell  rang,  and  then  he  could  not  meet  his  wife's  eye. 

"  If  it  is  that  old  Mr.  Hilbrook,"  she  said  to  the 
maid  in  transit  through  the  room,  "  tell  him  that  Mr. 
Ewbert  is  not  well,  but  /  shall  be  glad  to  see  him," 
and  now  Ewbert  did  not  dare  to  protest.  His  fore 
bodings  were  verified  when  he  heard  Hilbrook  asking 
for  him,  but  though  he  knew  the  voice,  he  detected 
a  difference  in  the  tone  that  puzzled  him. 

His  wife  did  not  give  Hilbrook  time  to  get  away, 
if  he  had  wished,  without  seeing  her;  she  rose  at 
once  and  went  out  to  him.  Ewbert  heard  her  asking 
him  into  the  library,  and  then  he  heard  them  in  par 
ley  there ;  and  presently  they  came  out  into  the  hall 
again,  and  went  to  the  front  door  together.  Ewbert's 
heart  misgave  him  of  something  summary  on  her 


A   DIFFICULT    CASE.  193 

part,  and  he  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  the  cheer 
ful  parting  between  them.  "  Well,  I  bid  you  good- 
evening,  ma'am,"  he  heard  old  Hilbrook  say  briskly, 
and  his  wife  return  sweetly,  "  Good-night,  Mr.  Hil 
brook.  You  must  come  soon  again." 

"  You  may  put  your  mind  at  rest,  Clarence,"  she 
said,  as  she  reentered  the  dining  room  and  met  his 
face  of  surprise.  "He  didn't  come  to  make  a  call; 
he  just  wanted  to  borrow  a  book, — Physical  Theory 
of  another  Life." 

"  How  did  you  find  it  ? "  asked  Ewbert,  with  relief. 

"  It  was  where  it  always  was,"  she  returned  indif 
ferently.  "Mr.  Hilbrook  seemed  to  be  very  much 
interested  in  something  you  said  to  him  about  it.  I 
do  believe  you  have  done  him  good,  Clarence ;  and 
now,  if  you  can  only  get  a  full  night's  rest,  I  shall 
forgive  him.  But  I  hope  he  won't  come  very  soon 
again,  and  will  never  stay  so  late  when  he  does  come. 
Promise  me  you  won't  go  near  him  till  he's  brought 
the  book  back ! " 

XII. 

HILBROOK  came  the  night  after  he  had  borrowed 
the  book,  full  of  talk  about  it,  to  ask  if  he  might  keep 
it  a  little  longer.  Ewbert  had  slept  well  the  interven- 

.N 


194  A    DIFFICULT   CASE. 

ing  night,  and  had  been  suffered  to  see  Hilbrook  upon 
promising  his  wife  that  he  would  not  encourage  the 
old  man  to  stay ;  but  Hilbrook  stayed  without  encour 
agement.  An  interest  had  come  into  his  apathetic 
life  which  renewed  it,  and  gave  vitality  to  a  whole 
dead  world  of  things.  He  wished  to  talk,  and  he 
wished  even  more  to  listen,  that  he  might  confirm 
himself  from  Ewbert's  faith  and  reason  in  the  conject 
ures  with  which  his  mind  was  filled.  His  eagerness 
as  to  the  conditions  of  a  future  life,  now  that  he  had 
begun  to  imagine  them,  was  insatiable,  and  Ewbert, 
who  met  it  with  glad  sympathy,  felt  drained  of  his 
own  spiritual  forces  by  the  strength  which  he  supplied 
to  the  old  man.  But  the  case  was  so  strange,  so  ab 
sorbing,  so  important,  that  he  could  not  refuse  him 
self  to  it.  He  could  not  deny  Hilbrook's  claim  to  all 
that  he  could  give  him  in  this  sort ;  he  was  as  helpless 
to  withhold  the  succor  he  supplied  as  he  was  to  hide 
from  Mrs.  Ewbert' s  censoriously  anxious  eye  the  ner 
vous  exhaustion  to  which  it  left  him  after  each  visit 
that  Hilbrook  paid  him.  But  there  was  a  drain  from 
another  sourse  of  which  he  would  not  speak  to  her  till 
he  could  make  sure  that  the  effect  was  not  some  trick 
of  his  own  imagination. 

He  had  been  aware,  in  twice  urging  some  reason 


A   DIFFICULT   CASE.  195 

upon  Hilbrook,  of  a  certain  perfunctory  quality  in  his 
performance.  It  was  as  if  the  truth,  so  vital  at  first, 
had  perished  in  its  formulation,  and  in  the  repetition 
he  was  sensible,  or  he  was  fearful,  of  an  insincerity, 
a  hollowness  in  the  arguments  he  had  originally  em 
ployed  so  earnestly  against  the  old  man's  doubt.  He 
recognized  with  dismay  a  quality  of  question  in  his 
own  mind,  and  he  fancied  that  as  Hilbrook  waxed  in 
belief  he  himself  waned.  The  conviction  of  a  life 
hereafter  was  not  something  which  he  was  sharing 
with  Hilbrook ;  he  was  giving  it  absolutely,  and  with 
such  entire  unreserve  that  he  was  impoverishing  his 
own  soul  of  its  most  precious  possession. 

So  it  seemed  to  him  in  those  flaccid  moods  to  which 
Hilbrook's  visits  left  him,  when  mind  and  body  were 
both  spent  in  the  effort  he  had  been  making.  In  the 
intervals  in  which  his  strength  renewed  itself,  he  put 
this  fear  from  him  as  a  hypochondriacal  fancy,  and  he 
summoned  a  cheerfulness  which  he  felt  less  and  less 
to  meet  the  hopeful  face  of  the  old  man.  Hilbrook 
had  renewed  himself,  apparently,  in  the  measure  that 
the  minister  had  aged  and  waned.  He  looked,  to 
Ewbert,  younger  and  stronger.  To  the  conventional 
question  how  he  did,  he  one  night  answered  that  he 
never  felt  better  in  his  life.  "But  you,"  he  said, 


196  A    DIFFICULT   CASE. 

casting  an  eye  over  the  face  and  figure  of  the  minis 
ter,  who  lay  back  in  his  easy-chair,  with  his  hands 
stretched  nerveless  on  the  arms,  "you  look  rather 
peaked.  I  don't  know  as  I  noticed  it  before,  but 
come  to  think,  I  seemed  to  feel  the  same  way  about 
it  when  I  saw  you  in  the  pulpit  yesterday." 

"  It  was  a  very  close  day,"  said  Ewbert.  "  I  don't 
know  why  I  shouldn't  be  about  as  well  as  usual." 

"  Well,  that's  right,"  said  Hilbrook,  in  willing  dis 
missal  of  the  trifle  which  had  delayed  him  from  the 
great  matter  in  his  mind. 

Some  new  thoughts  had  occurred  to  him  in  corrob- 
oration  of  the  notions  they  had  agreed  upon  in  their 
last  meeting.  But  in  response  Ewbert  found  himself 
beset  by  a  strange  temptation, — by  the  wish  to  take 
up  these  notions  and  expose  their  fallacy.  They  were 
indeed  mere  toys  of  their  common  fancy  which  they 
had  constructed  together  in  mutual  supposition,  but 
Ewbert  felt  a  sacredness  in  them,  while  he  longed  so 
strangely  to  break  them  one  by  one  and  cast  them  in 
the  old  man's  face.  Like  all  imaginative  people,  he 
was  at  times  the  prey  of  morbid  self-suggestions, 
whose  nature  can  scarcely  be  stated  without  excess. 
The  more  monstrous  the  thing  appeared  to  his  mind 
and  conscience,  the  more  fascinating  it  became.  Once 


A   DIFFICULT    CASE.  197 

the  mere  horror  of  such  a  conception  as  catching  a 
comely  parishoner  about  the  waist  and  kissing  her, 
when  she  had  come  to  him  with  a  case  of  conscience, 
had  so  confused  him  in  her  presence  as  to  make  him 
answer  her  wildly,  not  because  he  was  really  tempted 
to  the  wickedness,  but  because  he  realized  so  vividly 
the  hideousness  of  the  impossible  temptation.  In 
some  such  sort  he  now  trembled  before  old  Hilbrook, 
thinking  how  dreadful  it  would  be  if  he  were  suddenly 
to  begin  undoing  the  work  of  faith  in  him,  and  putting 
back  in  its  place  the  doubts  which  he  had  uprooted 
before.  In  a  swift  series  of  dramatic  representations 
he  figured  the  old  man's  helpless  amaze  at  the  demon 
iacal  gayety  with  which  he  should  mock  his  own  se 
riousness  in  the  past,  the  cynical  ease  with  which  he 
should  show  the  vanity  of  the  hopes  he  had  been  so 
fervent  in  awakening.  He  had  throughout  recognized 
the  claim  that  all  the  counter-doubts  had  upon  the 
reason,  and  he  saw  how  effective  he  could  make  these 
if  he  were  now  to  become  their  advocate.  He  pict 
ured  the  despair  in  which  he  could  send  his  proselyte 
tottering  home  to  his  lonely  house  through  the  dark. 
He  rent  himself  from  the  spell,  but  the  last  picture 
remained  so  real  with  him  that  he  went  to  the  window 
and  looked  out,  saying,  "  Is  there  a  moon  ? " 


198  A   DIFFICULT    CASE. 

"  It  ain't  up  yet,  I  guess,"  said  old  Hilbrook,  and 
from  something  in  his  manner,  rather  than  from  any 
thing  he  recollected  of  their  talk,  Ewbert  fancied  him 
to  have  asked  a  question,  and  to  be  now  waiting  for 
some  answer.  He  had  not  the  least  notion  what  the 
question  could  have  been,  and  he  began  to  walk  up 
and  down,  trying  to  think  of  something  to  say,  but 
feeling  his  legs  weak  under  him  and  the  sweat  cold 
on  his  forehead.  All  the  time  he  was  aware  of  Hil 
brook  following  him  with  an  air  of  cheerful  interest, 
and  patiently  waiting  till  he  should  take  up  the  thread 
of  their  discourse  again. 

He  controlled  himself  at  last,  and  sank  into  his 
chair.  "  Where  were  we  ?"  he  asked.  "  I  had  gone 
off  on  a  train  of  associations,  and  I  don't  just  recall 
our  last  point." 

Hilbrook  stated  it,  and  Ewbert  said,  "  Oh,  yes,"  as 
if  he  recognized  it,  and  went  on  from  it  upon  the  line 
of  thought  which  it  suggested.  He  was  aware  of 
talking  rationally  and  forcibly ;  but  in  the  subjective 
undercurrent  paralleling  his  objective  thought  he  was 
holding  discourse  with  himself  to  an  effect  wholly 
different  from  that  produced  in  Hilbrook. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  old  man  when  he  rose  to  go 
at  last,  "  I  guess  you've  settled  it  for  me.  You've 


A   DIFFICULT    CASE.  199 

made  me  see  that  there  can  be  an  immortal  life  that's 
worth  living ;  and  I  was  afraid  there  wa'n't !  I 
shouldn't  care,  now,  if  I  woke  up  any  morning  in  the 
other  world.  I  guess  it  would  be  all  right ;  and  that 
there  would  be  new  conditions  every  way,  so  that  a 
man  could  go  on  and  be  himself,  without  feelin'  that 
he  was  in  any  danger  of  bein'  wasted.  You've  made 
me  want  to  meet  my  boy  again  ;  and  I  used  to  dread 
it;  I  didn't  think  I  was  fit  for  it.  I  don't  know 
whether  you  expect  me  to  thank  you ;  I  presume  you 
don't ;  but  I  " — he  faltered,  and  his  voice  shook  in 
sympathy  with  the  old  hand  that  he  put  trembling 
into  Ewbert's — "  I  bless  you ! " 

XIII. 

THE  time  had  come  when  the  minister  must  seek 
refuge  and  counsel  with  his  wife.  He  went  to  her  as 
a  troubled  child  goes  to  its  mother,  and  she  heard  the 
confession  of  his  strange  experience  with  the  motherly 
sympathy  which  performs  the  comforting  office  of  per 
fect  intelligence.  If  she  did  not  grasp  its  whole  sig 
nificance,  she  seized  what  was  perhaps  the  main  point, 
and  she  put  herself  in  antagonism  to  the  cause  of  his 
morbid  condition,  while  administering  an  inevitable 
chastisement  for  the  neglect  of  her  own  prevision. 


20O  A    DIFFICULT    CASE. 

"That  terrible  old  man,"  she  said,  "has  simply 
been  draining  the  life  out  of  you,  Clarence.  I  saw  it 
from  the  beginning,  and  I  warned  you  against  it ;  but 
you  wouldn't  listen  to  me.  Now  I  suppose  you  will 
listen,  after  the  doctor  tells  you  that  you're  in  danger 
of  nervous  prostration,  and  that  you've  got  to  give  up 
everything  and  rest.  /  think  you've  been  in  danger 
of  losing  your  reason,  you've  overworked  it  so ;  and  I 
sha'n't  be  easy  till  I've  got  you  safely  away  at  the 
seaside,  and  out  of  the  reach  of  that — that  vampire.''1 

"  Emily  ! "  the  minister  protested.  "  I  can't  allow 
you  to  use  such  language.  At  the  worst,  and  suppos 
ing  that  he  has  really  been  that  drain  upon  me  which 
you  say  (though  I  don't  admit  it),  what  is  my  life  for 
but  to  give  to  others  ?  " 

"  But  my  life  isn't  for  you  to  give  to  others,  and 
your  life  is  mine,  and  I  think  I  have  some  right  to 
say  what  shall  be  done  with  it,  and  I  don't  choose  to 
have  it  used  up  on  old  Hilbrook."  It  passed  through 
Ewbert's  languid  thought,  which  it  stirred  to  a  vague 
amusement,  that  the  son  of  an  older  church  than  the 
Rixonite  might  have  found  in  this  thoroughly  terres 
trial  attitude  of  his  wife  a  potent  argument  for  sacer 
dotal  celibacy ;  but  he  did  not  attempt  to  formulate 
it,  and  he  listened  submissively  while  she  went  on: 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  201 

"  One  thing :  I  am  certainly  not  going  to  let  you  see 
him  again  till  you've  seen  the  doctor,  and  I  hope  he 
won't  come  about.  If  he  does,  /  shall  see  him." 

The  menace  in  this  declaration  moved  Ewbert  to 
another  protest,  which  he  worded  conciliatingly :  "  I 
shall  have  to  let  you.  But  I  know  you  won't  say  any 
thing  to  convey  a  sense  of  responsibility  to  him.  I 
couldn't  forgive  myself  if  he  were  allowed  to  feel  that 
he  had  been  preying  upon  me.  The  fact  is,  I've  been 
overdoing  in  every  way,  and  nobody  is  to  blame  for 
my  morbid  fancies  but  myself.  I  should  blame  my 
self  very  severely  if  you  based  any  sort  of  superstition 
on  them,  and  acted  from  that  superstition." 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid ! "  said  Mrs.  Ewbert. 
"  I  shall  take  care  of  his  feelings,  but  I  shall  have  my 
own  opinions,  all  the  same,  Clarence." 

Whether  a  woman  with  opinions  so  strong  as  Mrs. 
Ewbert's,  and  so  indistinguishable  from  her  preju 
dices,  could  be  trusted  to  keep  them  to  herself,  in 
dealing  with  the  matter  in  hand,  was  a  question  which 
her  husband  felt  must  largely  be  left  to  her  goodness 
of  heart  for  its  right  solution. 

When  Hilbrook  came  that  night,  as  usual,  she  had 
already  had  it  out  with  him  in  several  strenuous  rev 
eries  before  they  met,  and  she  was  able  to  welcome 


202  A    DIFFICULT    CASE. 

him  gently  to  the  interview  which  she  made  very 
brief.  His  face  fell  in  visible  disappointment  when 
she  said  that  Mr.  Ewbert  would  not  be  able  to  see 
him,  and  perhaps  there  was  nothing  to  uplift  him  in 
the  reasons  she  gave,  though  she  obscurely  resented 
his  continued  dejection  as  a  kind  of  ingratitude.  She 
explained  that  poor  Mr.  Ewbert  was  quite  broken 
down,  and  that  the  doctor  had  advised  his  going  to 
the  seaside  for  the  whole  of  August,  where  he  prom 
ised  everything  from  the  air  and  the  bathing.  Mr. 
Ewbert  merely  needed  toning  up,  she  said;  but  to 
correct  the  impression  she  might  be  giving  that  his 
breakdown  was  a  trifling  matter,  she  added  that  she 
felt  very  anxious  about  it,  and  wanted  to  get  him  away 
as  soon  as  possible.  She  said  with  a  confidential  ef 
fect,  as  of  something  in  which  Hilbrook  could  sym 
pathize  with  her :  "  You  know  it  isn't  merely  his 
church  work  proper ;  it's  his  giving  himself  spiritually 
to  all  sorts  of  people  so  indiscriminately.  He  can't 
deny  himself  to  any  one ;  and  sometimes  he's  perfectly 
exhausted  by  it.  You  must  come  and  see  him  as  soon 
as  he  gets  back,  Mr.  Hilbrook.  He  will  count  upon 
it,  I  know ;  he's  so  much  interested  in  the  discussions 
he  has  been  having  with  you." 

She  gave  the  old  man  her  hand  for  good-by,  after 


A   DIFFICULT    CASE.  203 

she  had  artfully  stood  him  up,  in  a  double  hope, — a 
hope  that  he  would  understand  that  there  was  some 
limit  to  her  husband's  nervous  strength,  and  a  hope 
that  her  closing  invitation  would  keep  him  from  feel 
ing  anything  personal  in  her  hints. 

Hilbrook  took  his  leave  in  the  dreamy  fashion  age 
has  with  so  many  things,  as  if  there  were  a  veil  be 
tween  him  and  experience  which  kept  him  from  the 
full  realization  of  what  had  happened;  and  as  she 
watched  his  bent  shoulders  down  the  garden  walk, 
carrying  his  forward-drooping  head  at  a  slant  that 
scarcely  left  the  crown  of  his  hat  visible,  a  fear  came 
upon  her  which  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  recount 
all  the  facts  of  her  interview  to  her  husband.  It  be 
came  her  duty,  rather,  to  conceal  what  was  painful  to 
herself  in  it,  and  she  merely  told  him  that  Mr.  Hil 
brook  had  taken  it  all  in  the  right  way,  and  she  had 
made  him  promise  to  come  and  see  them  as  soon  as 
they  got  back. 

XIV. 

EVENTS  approved  the  wisdom  of  Mrs.  Ewbert's 
course  in  so  many  respects  that  she  confidently  trusted 
them  for  the  rest.  Ewbert  picked  up  wonderfully  at 
the  seaside,  and  she  said  to  him  again  and  again  that 


204  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

it  was  not  merely  those  interviews  with  old  Hilbrook 
which  had  drained  his  vitality,  but  it  was  the  whole 
social  and  religious  keeping  of  the  place.  Everybody, 
she  said,  had  thrown  themselves  upon  his  sympathies, 
and  he  was  carrying  a  load  that  nobody  could  bear  up 
under.  She  addressed  these  declarations  to  her  lin 
gering  consciousness  of  Ransom  Hilbrook,  and  con 
firmed  herself,  by  their  repetition,  in  the  belief  that 
he  had  not  taken  her  generalizations  personally.  She 
now  extended  these  so  as  to  inculpate  the  faculty  of 
the  university,  who  ought  to  have  felt  it  their  duty 
not  to  let  a  man  of  Ewbert's  intellectual  quality  stag 
ger  on  alone  among  them,  with  no  sign  of  apprecia 
tion  or  recognition  in  the  work  he  was  doing,  not  so 
much  for  the  Rixonite  church  as  for  the  whole  com 
munity.  She  took  several  ladies  at  the  hotel  into  her 
confidence  on  this  point,  and  upon  study  of  the  situa 
tion  they  said  it  was  a  shame.  After  that  she  felt 
more  bitter  about  it,  and  attributed  her  husband's 
collapse  to  a  concealed  sense  of  the  indifference  of 
the  university  people,  so  galling  to  a  sensitive  nature. 
She  suggested  this  theory  to  Ewbert,  and  he  de 
nied  it  with  blithe  derision,  but  she  said  that  he  need 
not  tell  her,  and  in  confirming  herself  in  it  she  began 
to  relax  her  belief  that  old  Ransom  Hilbrook  had 


A   DIFFICULT    CASE.  205 

preyed  upon  him.  She  even  went  so  far  as  to  say 
that  the  only  intellectual  companionship  he  had  ever 
had  in  the  place  was  that  which  he  found  in  the  old 
man's  society.  When  she  discovered,  after  the  fact, 
that  Ewbert  had  written  to  him  since  they  came  away, 
she  was  not  so  severe  with  him  as  she  might  have 
expected  herself  to  be  in  view  of  an  act  which,  if  not 
quite  clandestine,  was  certainly  without  her  privity. 
She  would  have  considered  him  fitly  punished  by  Hil- 
brook's  failure  to  reply,  if  she  had  not  shared  his  un 
easiness  at  the  old  man's  silence.  But  she  did  not 
allow  this  to  affect  her  good  spirits,  which  were  essen 
tial  to  her  husband's  comfort  as  well  as  her  own.  She 
redoubled  her  care  of  him  in  every  sort,  and  among 
all  the  ladies  who  admired  her  devotion  to  him  there 
was  none  who  enjoyed  it  as  much  as  herself.  There 
was  none  who  believed  more  implicitly  that  it  was 
owing  to  her  foresight  and  oversight  that  his  health 
mended  so  rapidly,  and  that  at  the  end  of  the  bathing 
season  she  was,  as  she  said,  taking  him  home  quite 
another  man.  In  her  perfect  satisfaction  she  suffered 
him  his  small  joke  about  not  feeling  it  quite  right  to 
go  with  her  if  that  were  so ;  and  though  a  woman  of 
little  humor,  she  even  professed  to  find  pleasure  in 
his  joke  after  she  fully  understood  it. 


206  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

"  All  that  I  ask,"  she  said,  as  if  it  followed,  "  is 
that  you  won't  spoil  everything  by  letting  old  Hil- 
brook  come  every  night  and  drain  the  life  out  of  you 
again." 

"  I  won't,"  he  retorted,  "  if  you'll  promise  to  make 
the  university  people  come  regularly  to  my  sermons." 

He  treated  the  notion  of  Hilbrook's  visits  lightly ; 
but  with  his  return  to  the  familiar  environment  he 
felt  a  shrinking  from  them  in  an  experience  which 
was  like  something  physical.  Yet  when  he  sat  down 
the  first  night  in  his  study,  with  his  lamp  in  its  wonted 
place,  it  was  with  an  expectation  of  old  Hilbrook  in 
his  usual  seat  so  vivid  that  its  defeat  was  more  a 
shock  than  its  fulfilment  upon  supernatural  terms 
would  have  been.  In  fact,  the  absence  of  the  old 
man  was  spectral ;  and  though  Ewbert  employed  him 
self  fully  the  first  night  in  answering  an  accumulation 
of  letters  that  required  immediate  reply,  it  was  with 
nervous  starts  from  time  to  time,  which  he  could 
trace  to  no  other  cause.  His  wife  came  in  and  out, 
with  what  he  knew  to  be  an  accusing  eye,  as  she 
brought  up  those  arrears  of  housekeeping  which  al 
ways  await  the  housewife  on  the  return  from  any  va 
cation  ;  and  he  knew  that  he  did  not  conceal  his  guilt 
from  her. 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  207 

They  both  ignored  the  stress  which  had  fallen  back 
upon  him,  and  which  accumulated,  as  the  days  of  the 
week  went  by,  until  the  first  Sunday  came. 

Ewbert  dreaded  to  look  in  the  direction  of  Hil- 
brook's  pew,  lest  he  should  find  it  empty ;  but  the  old 
man  was  there,  and  he  sat  blinking  at  the  minister,  as 
his  custom  was,  through  the  sermon,  and  thoughtfully 
passing  the  tip  of  his  tongue  over  the  inner  edge  of 
his  lower  lip. 

Many  came  up  to  shake  hands  with  the  minister 
after  church,  and  to  tell  him  how  well  he  was  looking, 
but  Hilbrook  was  not  among  them.  Some  of  the  uni 
versity  people  who  had  made  a  point  of  being  there 
that  morning,  out  of  a  personal  regard  for  Ewbert, 
were  grouped  about  his  wife,  in  the  church  vestibule, 
where  she  stood  answering  their  questions  about  his 
health.  He  glimpsed  between  the  heads  and  shoul 
ders  of  this  gratifying  group  the  figure  of  Hilbrook 
dropping  from  grade  to  grade  on  the  steps  outside, 
till  it  ceased  to  be  visible,  and  he  fancied,  with  a 
pang,  that  the  old  man  had  lingered  to  speak  with 
him,  and  had  then  given  up  and  started  home. 

The  cordial  interest  of  the  university  people  was 
hardly  a  compensation  for  the  disappointment  he 
shared  with  Hilbrook ;  but  his  wife  was  so  happy  in 


A    DIFFICULT   CASE. 

it  that  he  could  not  say  anything  to  damp  her  joy. 
"  Now,"  she  declared,  on  their  way  home,  "  I  am 
perfectly  satisfied  that  they  will  keep  coming.  You 
never  preached  so  well,  Clarence,  and  if  they  have  any 
appreciation  at  all,  they  simply  won't  be  able  to  keep 
away.  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  all  the  nice  things 
they  said  about  you.  I  guess  they've  waked  up  to 
you,  at  last,  and  I  do  believe  that  the  idea  of  losing 
you  has  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it.  And  that  is 
something  we  owe  to  old  Ransom  Hilbrook  more  than 
to  anything  else.  I  saw  the  poor  old  fellow  hanging 
about,  and  I  couldn't  help  feeling  for  him.  I  knew 
he  wanted  to  speak  with  you,  and  I'm  not  afraid 
that  he  will  be  a  burden  again.  It  will  be  such  an 
inspiration,  the  prospect  of  having  the  university 
people  come  every  Sunday,  now,  that  you  can  afford 
to  give  a  little  of  it  to  him,  and  I  want  you  to  go 
and  see  him  soon ;  he  evidently  isn't  coming  till  you 
do." 

XV. 

EWBERT  had  learned  not  to  inquire  too  critically 
for  a  logical  process  in  his  wife's  changes  of  attitude 
toward  any  fact.  In  her  present  mood  he  recognized 
an  effect  of  the  exuberant  good-will  awakened  by  the 


A    DIFFICULT   CASE.  209 

handsome  behavior  of  the  university  people,  and  he 
agreed  with  her  that  he  must  go  to  see  old  Hilbrook 
at  once.  In  this  good  intention  his  painful  feeling 
concerning  him  was  soothed,  and  Ewbert  did  not  get 
up  to  the  Hilbrook  place  till  well  into  the  week.  It 
was  Thursday  afternoon  when  he  climbed  through  the 
orchard,  under  the  yellowing  leaves  which  dappled 
the  green  masses  of  the  trees  like  intenser  spots  of 
the  September  sunshine.  He  came  round  by  the  well 
to  the  side  door  of  the  house,  which  stood  open,  and 
he  did  not  hesitate  to  enter  when  he  saw  how  freely 
the  hens  were  coming  and  going  through  it.  They 
scuttled  out  around  him  and  between  his  legs,  with 
guilty  screeches,  and  left  him  standing  alone  in  the 
middle  of  the  wide,  low  kitchen.  A  certain  discom 
fort  of  the  nerves  which  their  flight  gave  him  was 
heightened  by  some  details  quite  insignificant  in 
themselves.  There  was  no  fire  in  the  stove,  and  the 
wooden  clock  on  the  mantel  behind  it  was  stopped ;  the 
wind  had  carried  in  some  red  leaves  from  the  maple 
near  the  door,  and  these  were  swept  against  the  farth 
er  wall,  where  they  lay  palpitating  in  the  draft. 

The  neglect  in  all  was  evidently  too  recent  to  sug 
gest  any  supposition  but  that  of  the  master's  tempo 
rary  absence,  and  Ewbert  went  to  the  threshold  to  look 


210  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

for  his  coming  from  the  sheds  or  the  barn.  But  these 
were  all  fast  shut,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  Hilbrook 
anywhere.  Ewbert  turned  back  into  the  room  again, 
and  saw  the  door  of  the  old  man's  little  bedroom  stand 
ing  slightly  ajar.  With  a  chill  of  apprehension  he 
pushed  it  open,  and  he  could  not  have  experienced  a 
more  disagreeable  effect  if  the  dark  fear  in  his  mind 
had  been  realized  than  he  did  to  see  Hilbrook  lying  in 
his  bed  alive  and  awake.  His  face  showed  like  a  fine 
mask  above  the  sheet,  and  his  long,  narrow  hands 
rested  on  the  covering  across  his  breast.  His  eyes 
met  those  of  Ewbert  not  only  without  surprise,  but 
without  any  apparent  emotion. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Hilbrook,"  said  the  minister,  "  are  you 
sick?" 

"  No,  I  am  first-rate,"  the  old  man  answered. 

It  was  on  the  point  of  the  minister's  tongue  to  ask 
him,  "  Then  what  in  the  world  are  you  doing  in  bed  ? " 
but  he  substituted  the  less  authoritative  suggestion, 
"  I  am  afraid  I  disturbed  you — that  I  woke  you  out 
of  a  nap.  But  I  found  the  door  open  and  the  hens 
inside,  and  I  ventured  to  come  in  " — 

Hilbrook  replied  calmly,  "  I  heard  you ;  I  wa Vt 
asleep." 

"Oh,"   said   Ewbert,    apologetically,  and   he   did 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  211 

not  know  quite  what  to  do ;  he  had  an  aimless  wish 
for  his  wife,  as  if  she  would  have  known  what  to  do. 
In  her  absence  he  decided  to  shut  the  door  against 
the  hens,  who  were  returning  adventurously  to  the 
threshold,  and  then  he  asked,  "  Is  there  something  I 
can  do  for  you  ?  Make  a  fire  for  you  to  get  up  by  " — 

"  I  ha'n't  got  any  call  to  get  up,"  said  Hilbrook  ; 
and,  after  giving  Ewbert  time  to  make  the  best  of  this 
declaration,  he  asked  abruptly,  "  What  was  that  you 
said  about  my  wantin'  to  be  alive  enough  to  know  I 
was  dead  ? " 

"  The  consciousness  of  unconsciousness  ? " 

"  Ah  ! "  the  old  man  assented,  as  with  satisfaction 
in  having  got  the  notion  right ;  and  then  he  added, 
with  a  certain  defiance :  "  There  ain't  anything  in  that. 
I  got  to  thinking  it  over,  when  you  was  gone,  and  the 
whole  thing  went  to  pieces.  That  idea  don't  prove 
anything  at  all,  and  all  that  we  worked  out  of  it  had 
to  go  with  it." 

"  Well,"  the  minister  returned,  with  an  assumption 
of  cosiness  in  his  tone  which  he  did  not  feel,  and 
feigning  to  make  himself  easy  in  the  hard  kitchen 
chair  which  he  pulled  up  to  the  door  of  Hilbrook's 
room,  "  let's  see  if  we  can't  put  that  notion  together 
again." 


212  A   DIFFICULT   CASE. 

"  You  can,  if  you  want  to,"  said  the  old  man,  dryly 
"  I  got  no  interest  in  it  any  more ;  'twa'n't  nothing 
but  a  metaphysical  toy,  anyway."  He  turned  his  head 
apathetically  on  the  pillow,  and  no  longer  faced  his 
visitor,  who  found  it  impossible  in  the  conditions  of 
tacit  dismissal  to  philosophize  further. 

"  I  was  sorry,"  Ewbert  began,  "  not  to  be  able  to 
speak  with  you  after  church,  the  other  day.  There 
were  so  many  people  " — 

"  That's  all  right/  said  Hilbrook  unresentfully. 
"  I  hadn't  anything  to  say,  in  particular." 

"  But  /  had,"  the  minister  persisted.  "  I  thought 
a  great  deal  about  you  when  I  was  away,  and  I 
went  over  our  talks  in  my  own  mind  a  great  many 
times.  The  more  I  thought  about  them,  the  more  I 
believed  that  we  had  felt  our  way  to  some  important 
truth  in  the  matter.  I  don't  say  final  truth,  for  I 
don't  suppose  that  we  shall  ever  reach  that  in  this 

life." 

"  Very  likely,"  Hilbrook  returned,  with  his  face  to 

the  wall.     "  I  don't  see  as  it  makes  any  difference ;  or 
if  it  does,  I  don't  care  for  it." 

Something  occurred  to  Ewbert  which  seemed  to 
him  of  more  immediate  usefulness  than  the  psycholog 
ical  question.  "  Couldn't  I  get  you  something  to  eat, 


A   DIFFICULT   CASE.  213 

Mr.  Hilbrook  ?  If  you  haven't  had  any  breakfast  to 
day,  you  must  be  hungry." 

"Yes,  I'm  hungry,"  the  old  man  assented,  "but  I 
don't  want  to  eat  anything." 

Ewbert  had  risen  hopefully  in  making  his  sugges 
tion,  but  now  his  heart  sank.  Here,  it  seemed  to  him, 
a  physician  rather  than  a  philosopher  was  needed,  and 
at  the  sound  of  wheels  on  the  wagon  track  to  the 
door  his  imagination  leaped  to  the  miracle  of  the  doc 
tor's  providential  advent.  He  hurried  to  the  thresh 
old  and  met  the  fish-man,  who  was  about  to  announce 
himself  with  the  handle  of  his  whip  on  the  clapboard- 
ing.  He  grasped  the  situation  from  the  minister's 
brief  statement,  and  confessed  that  he  had  expected 
to  find  the  old  gentleman  dead  in  his  bed  some  day, 
and  he  volunteered  to  send  some  of  the  women  folks 
from  the  farm  up  the  road.  When  these  came,  con 
centrated  in  the  person  of  the  farmer's  bustling  wife, 
who  had  a  fire  kindled  in  the  stove  and  the  kettle  on 
before  Ewbert  could  get  away,  he  went  for  the  doctor, 
and  returned  with  him  to  find  her  in  possession  of 
everything  in  the  house  except  the  owner's  interest. 
Her  usefulness  had  been  arrested  by  an  invisible  but 
impassable  barrier,  though  she  had  passed  and  re- 
passed  the  threshold  of  Hilbrook's  chamber  with  tea 


214  A    DIFFICULT   CASE. 

and  milk  toast.  He  said  simply  that  he  saw  no  ob 
ject  in  eating;  and  he  had  not  been  sufficiently  inter 
ested  to  turn  his  head  and  look  at  her  in  speaking  to 
her. 

With  the  doctor's  science  he  was  as  indifferent  as 
with  the  farm-wife's  service.  He  submitted  to  have 
his  pulse  felt,  and  he  could  not  help  being  prescribed 
for,  but  he  would  have  no  agency  in  taking  his  medi 
cine.  He  said,  as  he  had  said  to  Mrs.  Stephson  about 
eating,  that  he  saw  no  object  in  it. 

The  doctor  retorted,  with  the  temper  of  a  man  not 
used  to  having  his  will  crossed,  that  he  had  better 
take  it,  if  he  had  any  object  in  living,  and  Hilbrook 
answered  that  he  had  none.  In  his  absolute  apathy 
he  did  not  even  ask  to  be  let  alone. 

"You  see,"  the  baffled  doctor  fumed  in  the  con 
ference  that  he  had  with  Ewbert  apart,  "  he  doesn't 
really  need  any  medicine.  There's  nothing  the  mat 
ter  with  him,  and  I  only  wanted  to  give  him  some 
thing  to  put  an  edge  to  his  appetite.  He's  got  cranky 
living  here  alone ;  but  there  is  such  a  thing  as  starving 
to  death,  and  that's  the  only  thing  Hilbrook's  in 
danger  of.  If  you're  going  to  stay  with  him — he 
oughtn't  to  be  left  alone  " — 

"  I  can  come  up,  yes,  certainly,  after  supper,"  said 


A   DIFFICULT   CASE.  215 

Ewbert,  and   he  fortified   himself   inwardly  for   the 
question  this  would  raise  with  his  wife. 

"  Then  you  must  try  to  interest  him  in  something. 
Get  him  to  talking,  and  then  let  Mrs.  Stephson  come 
in  with  a  good  bowl  of  broth,  and  I  guess  we  may 
trust  Nature  to  do  the  rest." 

XVI. 

WHEN  we  speak  of  Nature,  we  figure  her  as  one 
thing,  with  a  fixed  purpose  and  office  in  the  universal 
economy ;  but  she  is  an  immense  number  of  things, 
and  her  functions  are  inexpressibly  varied.  She  in 
cludes  decay  as  well  as  growth;  she  compasses  death 
as  well  as  birth.  We  call  certain  phenomena  unnat 
ural  ;  but  in  a  natural  world  how  can  anything  be  un 
natural,  except  the  supernatural?  These  facts  gave 
Ewbert  pause  in  view  of  the  obstinate  behavior  of 
Ransom  Hilbrook  in  dying  for  no  obvious  reason,  and 
kept  him  from  pronouncing  it  unnatural.  The  old 
man,  he  reflected,  had  really  less  reason  to  live  than 
to  die,  if  it  came  to  reasons ;  for  everything  that  had 
made  the  world  home  to  him  had  gone  out  of  it,  and 
left  him  in  exile  here.  The  motives  had  ceased ;  the 
interests  had  perished;  the  strong  personality  that 


216  A   DIFFICULT    CASE. 

had  persisted  was  solitary  amid  the  familiar  environ 
ment  grown  alien. 

The  wonder  was  that  he  should  ever  have  been 
roused  from  his  apathetic  unfaith  to  inquiry  concern 
ing  the  world  beyond  this,  and  to  a  certain  degree  of 
belief  in  possibilities  long  abandoned  by  his  imagina 
tion.  Ewbert  had  assisted  at  the  miracle  of  this  re 
suscitation  upon  terms  which,  until  he  was  himself 
much  older,  he  could  not  question  as  to  their  benefi 
cence,  and  in  fact  it  never  came  to  his  being  quite 
frank  with  himself  concerning  them.  He  kept  his 
thoughts  on  this  point  in  that  state  of  solution  which 
holds  so  many  conjectures  from  precipitation  in  actual 
conviction. 

But  his  wife  had  no  misgivings.  Her  dread  was 
that  in  his  devotion  to  that  miserable  old  man  (as  she 
called  him,  not  always  in  compassion)  he  should  again 
contribute  to  Hilbrook's  vitality  at  the  expense,  if  not 
the  danger,  of  his  own.  She  of  course  expressed  her 
joy  that  Ewbert  had  at  last  prevailed  upon  him  to  eat 
something,  when  the  entreaty  of  his  nurse  and  the 
authority  of  his  doctor  availed  nothing ;  and  of  course 
she  felt  the  pathos  of  his  doing  it  out  of  affection  for 
Ewbert,  and  merely  to  please  him,  as  Hilbrook  de 
clared.  It  did  not  surprise  her  that  any  one  should 


A    DIFFICULT    CASE.  217 

do  anything  for  the  love  of  Ewbert,  but  it  is  doubtful 
if  she  fully  recognized  the  beauty  of  this  last  efflores 
cence  of  the  aged  life  ;  and  she  perceived  it  her  duty 
not  to  sympathize  entirely  with  Ewbert's  morbid  regret 
that  it  came  too  late.  She  was  much  more  resigned 
than  he  to  the  will  of  Providence,  and  she  urged  a 
like  submissiveness  upon  him. 

"  Don't  talk  so !  "  he  burst  out.  "  It's  horrible !  " 
It  was  in  the  first  hours  after  Ewbert's  return  from 
Hilbrook's  death -bed,  and  his  spent  nerves  gave  way 
in  a  gush  of  tears. 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,"  she  said,  after  a  pause  in 
which  he  controlled  his  sobs.  "  And  I  suppose,"  she 
added,  with  a  touch  of  bitterness,  "  that  you  blame 
me  for  taking  you  away  from  him  here  when  he  was 
coming  every  night  and  sapping  your  very  life.  You 
were  very  glad  to  have  me  do  it  at  the  time !  And 
what  use  would  there  have  been  in  your  killing  your 
self,  anyway  ?  It  wasn't  as  if  he  were  a  young  man 
with  a  career  of  usefulness  before  him,  that  might 
have  been  marred  by  his  not  believing  this  or  that. 
He  had  been  a  complete  failure  every  way,  and  the 
end  of  the  world  had  come  for  him.  What  did  it 
matter  whether  such  a  man  believed  that  there  was 
another  world  or  not  ? " 


218  A   DIFFICULT   CASK. 

"  Emily  !  Emily  ! "  the  minister  cried  out.  "  What 
are  you  saying  ? " 

Mrs.  Ewbert  broke  down  in  her  turn.  "  I  don't 
know  what  I'm  saying ! "  she  retorted  from  behind 
her  handkerchief.  "  I'm  trying  to  show  you  that  it's 
your  duty  to  yourself — and  to  me — and  to  people  who 
can  know  how  to  profit  by  your  teaching  and  your 
example,  not  to  give  way  as  you're  doing,  simply  be 
cause  a  worn-out  old  agnostic  couldn't  keep  his  hold 
on  the  truth.  I  don't  know  what  your  Bixonitism  is 
for  if  it  won't  let  you  wait  upon  the  divine  will  in 
such  a  thing,  too.  You're  more  conscientious  than 
the  worst  kind  of  Congregationalist.  And  now  for 
you  to  blame  me  " — 

"  Emily,  I  don't  blame  you"  said  her  husband.  "  I 
blame  myself." 

"And  you  see  that  that's  the  same  thing!  You 
ought  to  thank  me  for  saving  your  life ;  for  it  was 
just  as  if  you  were  pouring  your  heart's  blood  into 
him,  and  I  could  see  you  getting  more  anaemic  every 
day.  Even  now  you're  not  half  as  well  as  when  you 
got  home !  And  yet  I  do  believe  that  if  you  could 
bring  old  Hilbrook  back  into  a  world  that  he  was  sick 
and  tired  of,  you'd  give  your  own  life  to  do  it." 


A   DIFFICULT  CASE.  219 

XVII. 

There  was  reason  and  there  was  justice  in  what 
she  said,  though  they  were  so  chaotic  in  form,  and 
Ewbert  could  not  refuse  to  acquiesce. 

After  all,  he  had  done  what  he  could,  and  he  would 
not  abandon  himself  to  a  useless  remorse.  He  rather 
set  himself  to  study  the  lesson  of  old  Hilbrook's  life, 
and  in  the  funeral  sermon  that  he  preached  he  urged 
upon  his  hearers  the  necessity  of  keeping  themselves 
alive  through  some  relation  to  the  undying  frame  of 
things,  which  they  could  do  only  by  cherishing 
earthly  ties;  and  when  these  were  snapped  in  the 
removal  of  their  objects,  by  attaching  the  broken 
threads  through  an  effort  of  the  will  to  yet  other  ob 
jects:  the  world  could  furnish  these  inexhaustibly. 
He  touched  delicately  upon  the  peculiarities,  the  ec 
centricities,  of  the  deceased,  and  he  did  cordial  jus 
tice  to  his  gentleness,  his  blameless,  harmless  life,  his 
heroism  on  the  battlefields  of  his  country.  He  de 
clared  that  he  would  not  be  the  one  to  deny  an  inner 
piety,  and  certainly  not  a  steadfast  courage,  in  Hil 
brook's  acceptance  of  whatever  his  sincere  doubts 
implied. 

The  sermon  apparently  made  a  strong  impression 
on  all  who  heard  it.  Mrs.  Ewbert  was  afraid  that  it 


220  A  DIFFICULT  CASE. 

was  rather  abstruse  in  certain  passages,  but  she  felt 
sure  that  all  the  university  people  would  appreciate 
these.  The  university  people,  to  testify  their  respect 
for  their  founder,  had  come  in  a  body  to  the  obsequies 
of  his  kinsman ;  and  Mrs.  Ewbert  augured  the  best 
things  for  her  husband's  future  usefulness  from  their 
presence. 


THE  MAGIC  OF  A  VOICE. 


THERE  was  a  full  moon,  and  Langbourne  walked 
about  the  town,  unable  to  come  into  the  hotel  and  go 
to  bed.  The  deep  yards  of  the  houses  gave  out  the 
scent  of  syringas  and  June  roses ;  the  light  of  lamps 
carne  through  the  fragrant  bushes  from  the  open  doors 
and  windows,  with  the  sound  of  playing  and  singing 
and  bursts  of  young  laughter.  Where  the  houses 
stood  near  the  street,  he  could  see  people  lounging  on 
the  thresholds,  and  their  heads  silhouetted  against  the 
luminous  interiors.  Other  houses,  both  those  which 
stood  further  back  and  those  that  stood  nearer,  were 
dark  and  still,  and  to  these  he  attributed  the  happi 
ness  of  love  in  fruition,  safe  from  unrest  and  longing. 

His  own  heart  was  tenderly  oppressed,  not  with 
desire,  but  with  the  memory  of  desire.  It  was  almost 
as  if  in  his  faded  melancholy  he  were  sorry  for  the 
disappointment  of  some  one  else. 

At  last  he  turned  and  walked   back  through  the 


222  THK   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE. 

streets  of  dwellings  to  the  business  centre  of  the  town, 
where  a  gush  of  light  came  from  the  veranda  of  his 
hotel,  and  the  druggist's  window  cast  purple  and  yel 
low  blurs  out  upon  the  footway.  The  other  stores 
were  shut,  and  he  alone  seemed  to  be  abroad.  The 
church  clock  struck  ten  as  he  mounted  the  steps  of 
his  hotel  and  dropped  the  remnant  of  his  cigar  over 
the  side. 

He  had  slept  badly  on  the  train  the  night  before, 
and  he  had  promised  himself  to  make  up  his  lost 
sleep  in  the  good  conditions  that  seemed  to  offer  them 
selves.  But  when  he  sat  down  in  the  hotel  office  he 
was  more  wakeful  than  he  had  been  when  he  started 
out  to  walk  himself  drowsy. 

The  clerk  gave  him  the  New  York  paper  which  had 
come  by  the  evening  train,  and  he  thanked  him,  but 
remained  musing  in  his  chair.  At  times  he  thought 
he  would  light  another  cigar,  but  the  hand  that  he 
carried  to  his  breast  pocket  dropped  nervelessly  to 
his  knee  again,  and  he  did  not  smoke.  Through  his 
memories  of  disappointment  pierced  a  self-reproach 
which  did  not  permit  him  the  perfect  self-complacency 
of  regret ;  and  yet  he  could  not  have  been  sure,  if  hd 
had  asked  himself,  that  this  pang  did  not  heighten 
the  luxury  of  his  psychological  experience. 


THE  MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE.  223 

He  rose  and  asked  the  clerk  for  a  lamp,  but  lie 
turned  back  from  the  stairs  to  inquire  when  there 
would  be  another  New  York  mail.  The  clerk  said 
there  was  a  train  from  the  south  due  at  eleven-forty, 
but  it  seldom  brought  any  mail;  the  principal  mail 
was  at  seven.  Langbourne  thanked  him,  and  came 
back  again  to  beg  the  clerk  to  be  careful  and  not  have 
him  called  in  the  morning,  for  he  wished  to  sleep. 
Then  he  went  up  to  his  room,  where  he  opened  his 
window  to  let  in  the  night  air.  He  heard  a  dog  bark 
ing  ;  a  cow  lowed ;  from  a  stable  somewhere  the  soft 
thumping  of  the  horses'  feet  came  at  intervals  lull- 
ingly. 

II. 

LANGBOURNE  fell  asleep  so  quickly  that  he  was 
aware  of  no  moment  of  waking  after  his  head  touched 
the  fragrant  pillow.  He  woke  so  much  refreshed  by 
his  first  sound,  soft  sleep  that  he  thought  it  must  be 
nearly  morning.  He  got  his  watch  into  a  ray  of  the 
moonlight  and  made  out  that  it  was  only  a  little  after 
midnight,  and  he  perceived  that  it  must  have  been  the 
sound  of  low  murmuring  voices  and  broken  laughter 
in  the  next  room  which  had  wakened  him.  But  he 
was  rather  glad  to  have  been  roused  to  a  sense  of  his 


224  THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICK. 

absolute  comfort,  and  lie  turned  unresentfully  to  sleep 
again.  All  his  heaviness  of  heart  was  gone  ;  he  felt 
curiously  glad  and  young ;  he  had  somehow  forgiven 
the  wrong  he  had  suffered  and  the  wrong  he  had  done. 
The  subdued  murmuring  went  on  in  the  next  room, 
and  he  kept  himself  awake  to  enjoy  it  for  a  while. 
Then  he  let  himself  go,  and  drifted  away  into  gulfs 
of  slumber,  where,  suddenly,  he  seemed  to  strike 
against  something,  and  started  up  in  bed. 

A  laugh  came  from  the  next  room.  It  was  not 
muffled,  as  before,  but  frank  and  clear.  It  was  wom 
an's  laughter,  and  Langbourne  easily  inferred  girl 
hood  as  well  as  womanhood  from  it.  His  neighbors 
must  have  come  by  the  late  train,  and  they  had  prob 
ably  begun  to  talk  as  soon  as  they  got  into  their  room. 
He  imagined  their  having  spoken  low  at  first  for  fear 
of  disturbing  some  one,  and  then,  in  their  forgetful- 
ness,  or  their  belief  that  there  was  no  one  near, 
allowed  themselves  greater  freedom.  There  were 
survivals  of  their  earlier  caution  at  times,  when  their 
voices  sank  so  low  as  scarcely  to  be  heard ;  then  there 
was  a  break  from  it  when  they  rose  clearly  distin 
guishable  from  each  other.  They  were  never  so  dis 
tinct  that  he  could  make  out  what  was  said;  but  each 
voice  unmistakably  conveyed  character. 


THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  225 

Friendship  between  girls  is  never  equal ;  they  may 
equally  love  each  other,  but  one  must  worship  and 
one  must  suffer  worship.  Langbourne  read  the  dif 
fering  temperaments  necessary  to  this  relation  in  the 
differing  voices.  That  which  bore  mastery  was  a  low, 
thick  murmur,  coming  from  deep  in  the  throat,  and 
flowing  out  in  a  steady  stream  of  indescribable  coax 
ing  and  drolling.  The  owner  of  that  voice  had  im 
agination  and  humor  which  could  charm  with  absolute 
control  her  companion's  lighter  nature,  as  it  betrayed 
itself  in  a  gay  tinkle  of  amusement  and  a  succession 
of  nervous  whispers.  Langbourne  did  not  wonder  at 
her  subjection  ;  with  the  first  sounds  of  that  rich,  ten 
der  voice,  he  had  fallen  under  its  spell  too ;  and  he 
listened  intensely,  trying  to  make  out  some  phrase, 
some  word,  some  syllable.  But  the  talk  kept  its  sub- 
audible  flow,  and  he  had  to  content  himself  as  he 
could  with  the  sound  of  the  voice. 

As  he  lay  eavesdropping  with  all  his  might  he  tried 
to  construct  an  image  of  the  two  girls  from  their 
voices.  The  one  with  the  crystalline  laugh  was  little 
and  lithe,  quick  in  movement,  of  a  mobile  face,  with 
gray  eyes  and  fair  hair ;  the  other  was  tall  and  pale, 
with  full,  blue  eyes  and  a  regular  face,  and  lips  that 

trembled  with  humor ;  very  demure  and  yet  very  hon- 
p 


226  THE   MAGIC   OF    A   VOICE. 

est ;  very  shy  and  yet  very  frank ;  there  was  something 
almost  mannish  in  her  essential  honesty ;  there  was 
nothing  of  feminine  coquetry  in  her,  though  every 
thing  of  feminine  charm.  She  was  a  girl  who  looked 
like  her  father,  Langbourne  perceived  with  a  flash  of 
divination.  She  dressed  simply  in  dark  blue,  and  her 
hair  was  of  a  dark  mahogany  color.  The  smaller  girl 
wore  light  gray  checks  or  stripes,  and  the  shades  of 
silver. 

The  talk  began  to  be  less  continuous  in  the  next 
room,  from  which  there  came  the  sound  of  sighs  and 
yawns,  and  then  of  mingled  laughter  at  these.  Then 
the  talk  ran  unbrokenly  on  for  a  while,  and  again 
dropped  into  laughs  that  recognized  the  drowse  creep 
ing  upon  the  talkers.  Suddenly  it  stopped  altogether, 
and  left  Langbourne,  as  he  felt,  definitively  awake  for 
the  rest  of  the  night. 

He  had  received  an  impression  which  he  could  not 
fully  analyze.  With  some  inner  sense  he  kept  hear 
ing  that  voice,  low  and  deep,  arid  rich  with  whimsical 
suggestion.  Its  owner  must  have  a  strange,  complex 
nature,  which  would  perpetually  provoke  and  satisfy. 
Her  companionship  would  be  as  easy  and  reasonable 
as  a  man's,  while  it  had  the  charm  of  a  woman's.  At 
the  moment  it  seemed  to  him  that  life  without  this 


THE    MAGIC    OF    A   VOICE. 

companionship  would  be  something  poorer  and  thin 
ner  than  he  had  yet  known,  and  that  he  could  not  en 
dure  to  forego  it.  Somehow  he  must  manage  to  see 
the  girl  and  make  her  acquaintance.  He  did  not 
know  how  it  could  be  contrived,  but  it  could  certainly 
be  contrived,  and  he  began  to  dramatize  their  meeting 
on  these  various  terms.  It  was  interesting  and  it  was 
delightful,  and  it  always  came,  in  its  safe  impossibil 
ity,  to  his  telling  her  that  he  loved  her,  and  to  her 
consenting  to  be  his  wife.  He  resolved  to  take  no 
chance  of  losing  her,  but  to  remain  awake,  and  some 
how  see  her  before  she  could  leave  the  hotel  in  the 
morning.  The  resolution  gave  him  cairn ;  he  felt  that 
the  affair  so  far  was  settled. 

Suddenly  he  started  from  his  pillow ;  and  again  he 
heard  that  mellow  laugh,  warm  and  rich  as  the  cooing 
of  doves  on  sunlit  eaves.  The  sun  was  shining  through 
the  crevices  of  his  window-blinds;  he  looked  at  his 
watch ;  it  was  half -past  eight.  The  sound  of  flutter 
ing  skirts  and  flying  feet  in  the  corridor  shook  his 
heart.  A  voice,  the  voice  of  the  mellow  laugh,  called 
as  if  to  some  one  on  the  stairs,  "  I  must  have  put  it 
in  my  bag.  It  doesn't  matter,  anyway." 

He  hurried  on  his  clothes,  in  the  vain  hope  of  find 
ing  his  late  neighbors  at  breakfast ;  but  before  he  had 


228  THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

finished  dressing  he  heard  wheels  before  the  veranda 
below,  and  he  saw  the  hotel  barge  drive  away,  as  if 
to  the  station.  There  were  two  passengers  in  it ;  two 
women,  whose  faces  were  hidden  by  the  fringe  of  the 
barge-roof,  but  whose  slender  figures  showed  them 
selves  from  their  necks  down.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
one  was  tall  and  slight,  and  the  other  slight  and  little. 

III. 

HE  stopped  in  the  hall,  and  then,  tempted  by  his 
despair,  he  stepped  within  the  open  door  of  the  next 
room  and  looked  vaguely  over  it,  with  shame  at  being 
there.  What  was  it  that  the  girl  had  missed,  and  had 
come  back  to  look  for  ?  Some  trifle,  no  doubt,  which 
she  had  not  cared  to  lose,  and  yet  had  not  wished  to 
leave  behind.  He  failed  to  find  anything  in  the 
search,  which  he  could  not  make  very  thorough,  and 
he  was  going  guiltily  out  when  his  eye  fell  upon  an 
envelope,  perversely  fallen  beside  the  door  and  almost 
indiscernible  against  the  white  paint,  with  the  ad 
dressed  surface  inward. 

This  must  be  the  object  of  her  search,  and  he  could 
understand  why  she  was  not  very  anxious  when  he 
found  it  a  circular  from  a  nursery-man,  containing 
nothing  more  valuable  than  a  list  of  flowering  shrubs. 


THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  229 

He  satisfied  himself  that  this  was  all  without  satisfy 
ing  himself  that  he  had  quite  a  right  to  do  so ;  and 
he  stood  abashed  in  the  presence  of  the  superscrip 
tion  on  the  envelope  somewhat  as  if  Miss  Barbara  F. 
Simpson,  Upper  Ashton  Falls,  N.  H.,  were  there  to 
see  him  tampering  with  her  correspondence.  It  was 
indelicate,  and  he  felt  that  his  whole  behavior  had 
been  indelicate,  from  the  moment  her  laugh  had  wak 
ened  him  in  the  night  till  now,  when  he  had  invaded 
her  room.  He  had  no  more  doubt  that  she  was  the 
taller  of  the  two  girls  than  that  this  was  her  name  on 
the  envelope.  He  liked  Barbara ;  and  Simpson  could 
be  changed.  He  seemed  to  hear  her  soft  throaty 
laugh  in  response  to  the  suggestion,  and  with  a  leap 
of  the  heart  he  slipped  the  circular  into  his  breast 
pocket. 

After  breakfast  he  went  to  the  hotel  office,  and 
stood  leaning  on  the  long  counter  and  talking  with 
the  clerk  till  he  could  gather  courage  to  look  at  the 
register,  where  he  .knew  the  names  of  these  girls  must 
be  written.  He  asked  where  Upper  Ashton  Falls 
was,  and  whether  it  would  be  a  pleasant  place  to 
spend  a  week. 

The  clerk  said  that  it  was  about  thirty  miles  up  the 
road,  and  was  one  of  the  nicest  places  in  the  moun- 


230  THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

tains ;  Langbourne  could  not  go  to  a  nicer ;  and  there 
was  a  very  good  little  hotel.  "  Why,"  he  said,  "  there 
were  two  ladies  here  overnight  that  just  left  for  there, 
on  the  seven-forty.  Odd  you  should  ask  about  it." 

Langbourne  owned  that  it  was  odd,  and  then  he 
asked  if  the  ladies  lived  at  Upper  Ashton  Falls,  or 
were  merely  summer  folks. 

"  Well,  a  little  of  both,"  said  the  clerk.  "  They're 
cousins,  and  they've  got  an  aunt  living  there  that  they 
stay  with.  They  used  to  go  away  winters, — teaching, 
I  guess, — but  this  last  year  they  stayed  right  through. 
Been  down  to  Springfield,  they  said,  and  just  stopped 
the  night  because  the  accommodation  don't  go  any 
farther.  Wake  you  up  last  night  ?  I  had  to  put  ?em 
into  the  room  next  to  yours,  and  girls  usually  talk." 

Langbourne  answered  that  it  would  have  taken  a 
good  deal  of  talking  to  wake  him  the  night  before, 
and  then  he  lounged  across  to  the  time-table  hanging 
on  the  wall,  and  began  to  look  up  the  trains  for  Up 
per  Ashton  Falls. 

"  If  you  want  to  go  to  the  Falls,"  said  the  clerk, 
"  there's  a  through  train  at  four,  with  a  drawing-room 
on  it,  that  will  get  you  there  by  five." 

"Oh,  I  fancy  I  was  looking  up  the  New  York 
trains,"  Langbourne  returned.  He  did  not  like  these 


THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE.  231 

evasions,  but  in  his  consciousness  of  Miss  Simpson  he 
seemed  unable  to  avoid  them.  The  clerk  went  out 
on  the  veranda  to  talk  with  a  farmer  bringing  sup 
plies,  and  Langbourne  ran  to  the  register,  and  read 
there  the  names  of  Barbara  F.  Simpson  and  Juliet  D. 
Bingham.  It  was  Miss  Simpson  who  had  registered 
for  both,  since  her  name  came  first,  and  the  entry  was 
in  a  good,  simple  hand,  which  was  like  a  man's  in  its 
firmness  and  clearness.  He  turned  from  the  register 
decided  to  take  the  four-o'clock  train  for  Upper  Ash- 
ton  Falls,  and  met  a  messenger  with  a  telegram  which 
he  knew  was  for  himself  before  the  boy  could  ask  his 
name.  His  partner  had  fallen  suddenly  sick ;  his  re 
call  was  absolute,  his  vacation  was  at  an  end ;  nothing 
remained  for  him  but  to  take  the  first  train  back  to 
New  York.  He  thought  how  little  prescient  he  had 
been  in  his  pretence  that  he  was  looking  the  New 
York  trains  up ;  but  the  need  of  one  had  come  already, 
and  apparently  he  should  never  have  any  use  for  a 
train  to  Upper  Ashton  Falls. 

IV. 

ALL  the  way  back  to  New  York  Langbourne  was 
oppressed  by  a  sense  of  loss  such  as  his  old  disap 
pointment  in  love  now  seemed  to  him  never  to  have 


232  THE   MAGIC    OF    A   VOICE. 

inflicted.  He  found  that  his  whole  being  had  set 
toward  the  unseen  owner  of  the  voice  which  had 
charmed  him,  and  it  was  like  a  stretching  and  tearing 
of  the  nerves  to  be  going  from  her  instead  of  going 
to  her.  He  was  as  much  under  duress  as  if  he  were 
bound  by  a  hypnotic  spell.  The  voice  continually 
sounded,  not  in  his  ears,  which  were  filled  with  the 
noises  of  the  train,  as  usual,  but  in  the  inmost  of  his 
spirit,  where  it  was  a  low,  cooing,  coaxing  murmur. 
He  realized  now  how  intensely  he  must  have  listened 
for  it  in  the  night,  how  every  tone  of  it  must  have 
pervaded  him  and  possessed  him.  He  was  in  love 
with  it,  he  was  as  entirely  fascinated  by  it  as  if  it 
were  the  girPs  whole  presence,  her  looks,  her  qualities. 
The  remnant  of  the  summer  passed  in  the  fret  of 
business,  which  was  doubly  irksome  through  his  feel 
ing  of  injury  in  being  kept  from  the  girl  whose  per 
sonality  he  constructed  from  the  sound  of  her  voice, 
and  set  over  his  fancy  in  an  absolute  sovereignty. 
The  image  he  had  created  of  her  remained  a  dim  and 
blurred  vision  throughout  the  day,  but  by  night  it  be 
came  distinct  and  compelling.  One  evening,  late  in 
the  fall,  he  could  endure  the  stress  no  longer,  and  he 
yielded  to  the  temptation  which  had  beset  him  from 
the  first  moment  he  renounced  his  purpose  of  return- 


THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  233 

ing  in  person  the  circular  addressed  to  her  as  a  means 
of  her  acquaintance.  He  wrote  to  her,  and  in  terms 
as  dignified  as  he  could  contrive,  and  as  free  from  any 
ulterior  import,  he  told  her  he  had  found  it  in  the 
hotel  hallway  and  had  meant  to  send  it  to  her  at  once, 
thinking  it  might  be  of  some  slight  use  to  her.  He 
had  failed  to  do  this,  and  now,  having  come  upon  it 
among  some  other  papers,  he  sent  it  with  an  explana 
tion  which  he  hoped  she  would  excuse  him  for  troub 
ling  her  with. 

This  was  not  true,  but  he  did  not  see  how  he  could 
begin  with  her  by  saying  that  he  had  found  the  cir 
cular  in  her  room,  and  had  kept  it  by  him  ever  since, 
looking  at  it  every  day,  and  leaving  it  where  he  could 
see  it  the  last  thing  before  he  slept  at  night  and  the 
first  thing  after  he  woke  in  the  morning.  As  to  her 
reception  of  his  story,  he  had  to  trust  to  his  knowl 
edge  that  she  was,  like  himself,  of  country  birth  and 
breeding,  and  to  his  belief  that  she  would  not  take 
alarm  at  his  overture.  He  did  not  go  much  into  the 
world  and  was  little  acquainted  with  its  usages,  yet  he 
knew  enough  to  suspect  that  a  woman  of  the  world 
would  either  ignore  his  letter,  or  would  return  a  cold 
and  snubbing  expression  of  Miss  Simpson's  thanks  for 
Mr.  Stephen  M.  Langbourne's  kindness. 


234  THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE. 

He  had  not  only  signed  his  name  and  given  his  ad 
dress  carefully  in  hopes  of  a  reply,  but  he  had  enclosed 
the  business  card  of  his  firm  as  a  token  of  his  respon 
sibility.  The  partner  in  a  wholesale  stationery  house 
ought  to  be  an  impressive  figure  in  the  imagination  of 
a  village  girl ;  but  it  was  some  weeks  before  any  an 
swer  came  to  Langbourne's  letter.  The  reply  began 
with  an  apology  for  the  delay,  and  Langbourne  per 
ceived  that  he  had  gained  rather  than  lost  by  the 
writer's  hesitation ;  clearly  she  believed  that  she  had 
put  herself  in  the  wrong,  and  that  she  owed  him  a 
certain  reparation.  For  the  rest,  her  letter  was  dis 
creetly  confined  to  an  acknowledgment  of  the  trouble 
he  had  taken. 

But  this  spare  return  was  richly  enough  for  Lang- 
bourne  ;  it  would  have  sufficed,  if  there  had  been  noth 
ing  in  the  letter,  that  the  handwriting  proved  Miss 
Simpson  to  have  been  the  one  who  had  made  the  en 
try  of  her  name  and  her  friend's  in  the  hotel  register. 
This  was  most  important  as  one  step  in  corroboration 
of  the  fact  that  he  had  rightly  divined  her ;  that  the 
rest  should  come  true  was  almost  a  logical  necessity. 
Still,  he  was  puzzled  to  contrive  a  pretext  for  writing 
again,  and  he  remained  without  one  for  a  fortnight. 
Then,  in  passing  a  seedsman's  store  which  he  used  to 


THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE.  235 

pass  every  day  without  thinking,  he  one  day  suddenly 
perceived  his  opportunity.  He  went  in  and  got  a 
number  of  the  catalogues  and  other  advertisements, 
and  addressed  them  then  and  there,  in  a  wrapper  the 
seedsman  gave  him,  to  Miss  Barbara  F.  Simpson,  Up 
per  Ashton  Falls,  N.  H. 

Now  the  response  came  with  a  promptness  which 
at  least  testified  of  the  lingering  compunction  of  Miss 
Simpson.  She  asked  if  she  were  right  in  supposing 
the  seedsman's  catalogues  and  folders  had  come  to 
her  from  Langbourne,  and  begged  to  know  from  him 
whether  the  seedsman  in  question  was  reliable :  it  was 
so  difficult  to  get  garden  seeds  that  one  could  trust. 

The  correspondence  now  established  itself,  and  with 
one  excuse  or  another  it  prospered  throughout  the 
winter.  Langbourne  was  not  only  willing,  he  was 
most  eager,  to  give  her  proof  of  his  reliability ;  he 
spoke  of  stationers  in  Springfield  and  Greenfield  to 
whom  he  was  personally  known;  and  he  secretly 
hoped  she  would  satisfy  herself  through  friends  in 
those  places  that  he  was  an  upright  and  trustworthy 
person. 

Miss  Simpson  wrote  delightful  letters,  with  that 
whimsical  quality  which  had  enchanted  him  in  her 
voice.  The  coaxing  and  caressing  was  not  there,  and 


THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

could  not  be  expected  to  impart  itself,  unless  in  those 
refuges  of  deep  feeling  supposed  to  lurk  between  the 
lines.  But  he  hoped  to  provoke  it  from  these  in 
time,  and  his  own  letters  grew  the  more  earnest  the 
more  ironical  hers  became.  He  wrote  to  her  about  a 
book  he  was  reading,  and  when  she  said  she  had  not 
seen  it,  he  sent  it  her ;  in  one  of  her  letters  she  casu 
ally  betrayed  that  she  sang  contralto  in  the  choir,  and 
then  he  sent  her  some  new  songs,  which  he  had  heard 
in  the  theatre,  and  which  he  had  informed  himself 
from  a  friend  were  contralto.  He  was  always  tending 
to  an  expression  of  the  feeling  which  swayed  him ; 
but  on  her  part  there  was  no  sentiment.  Only  in  the 
fact  that  she  was  willing  to  continue  this  exchange  of 
letters  with  a  man  personally  unknown  to  her  did  she 
betray  that  romantic  tradition  which  underlies  all  our 
young  life,  and  in  those  unused  to  the  world  tempts 
to  things  blameless  in  themselves,  but  of  the  sort 
shunned  by  the  worldlier  wise.  There  was  no  great 
wisdom  of  any  kind  in  Miss  Simpson's  letters ;  but 
Langbourne  did  not  miss  it ;  he  was  content  with  her 
mere  words,  as  they  related  the  little  events  of  her 
simple  daily  life.  These  repeated  themselves  from 
the  page  in  the  tones  of  her  voice  and  filled  him  with 
a  passionate  intoxication. 


THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  237 

Towards  spring  he  had  his  photograph  taken,  for 
no  reason  that  he  could  have  given ;  but  since  it  was 
done  he  sent  one  to  his  mother  in  Vermont,  and  then 
he  wrote  his  name  on  another,  and  sent  it  to  Miss 
Simpson  in  New  Hampshire.  He  hoped,  of  course, 
that  she  would  return  a  photograph  of  herself;  but 
she  merely  acknowledged  his  with  some  dry  playful 
ness.  Then,  after  disappointing  him  so  long  that  he 
ceased  to  expect  anything,  she  enclosed  a  picture. 
The  face  was  so  far  averted  that  Langbourne  could 
get  nothing  but  the  curve  of  a  longish  cheek,  the  point 
of  a  nose,  the  segment  of  a  crescent  eyebrow.  The 
girl  said  that  as  they  should  probably  never  meet,  it 
was  not  necessary  he  should  know  her  when  he  saw 
her ;  she  explained  that  she  was  looking  away  because 
she  had  been  attracted  by  something  on  the  other 
side  of  the  photograph  gallery  just  at  the  moment  the 
artist  took  the  cap  off  the  tube  of  his  camera,  and  she 
could  not  turn  back  without  breaking  the  plate. 

Langbourne  replied  that  he  was  going  up  to  Spring 
field  on  business  the  first  week  in  May,  and  that  he 
thought  he  might  push  on  as  far  north  as  Upper  Ash- 
ton  Falls.  To  this  there  came  no  rejoinder  whatever, 
but  he  did  not  lose  courage.  It  was  now  the  end  of 
April,  and  he  could  bear  to  wait  for  a  further  verifi- 


238  THE  MAGIC  OF  A 

cation  of  his  ideal ;  the  photograph  had  confirmed  him 
in  its  evasive  fashion  at  every  point  of  his  conjecture 
concerning  her.  It  was  the  face  he  had  imagined  her 
having,  or  so  he  now  imagined,  and  it  was  just  such 
a  long  oval  face  as  would  go  with  the  figure  he  attrib 
uted  to  her.  She  must  have  the  healthy  palor  of  skin 
which  associates  itself  with  masses  of  dark,  mahogany^ 
colored  hair. 

V. 

IT  was  so  long  since  he  had  known  a  Northern 
spring  that  he  had  forgotten  how  much  later  the  be 
ginning  of  May  was  in  New  Hampshire;  but  as  his 
train  ran  up  from  Springfield  he  realized  the  differ 
ence  of  the  season  from  that  which  he  had  left  in 
New  York.  The  meadows  were  green  only  in  the 
damp  hollows ;  most  of  the  trees  were  as  bare  as  in 
midwinter ;  the  willows  in  the  swamplands  hung  out 
their  catkins,  and  the  white  birches  showed  faint  signs 
of  returning  life.  In  the  woods  were  long  drifts  of 
snow,  though  he  knew  that  in  the  brown  leaves  along 
their  edges  the  pale  pink  flowers  of  the  trailing  arbu 
tus  were  hiding  their  wet  faces.  A  vernal  mildness 
overhung  the  landscape.  A  blue  haze  filled  the  dis 
tances  and  veiled  the  hills ;  from  the  farm  door-yards 


THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE.  239 

the  smell  of  burning  leaf-heaps  and  garden-stalks 
came  through  the  window  which  he  lifted  to  let  in  the 
dull,  warm  air.  The  sun  shone  down  from  a  pale 
sky,  in  which  the  crows  called  to  one  another. 

By  the  time  he  arrived  at  Upper  Ashton  Falls  the 
afternoon  had  waned  so  far  towards  evening  that  the 
first  robins  were  singing  their  vespers  from  the  leaf 
less  choirs  of  the  maples  before  the  hotel.  He  in 
dulged  the  landlord  in  his  natural  supposition  that  he 
had  come  up  to  make  a  timely  engagement  for  sum 
mer  board ;  after  supper  he  even  asked  what  the  price 
of  such  rooms  as  his  would  be  by  the  week  in  July, 
while  he  tried  to  lead  the  talk  round  to  the  fact  which 
he  wished  to  learn. 

He  did  not  know  where  Miss  Simpson  lived ;  and 
the  courage  with  which  he  had  set  out  on  his  adven 
ture  totally  lapsed,  leaving  in  its  place  an  accusing 
sense  of  silliness.  He  was  where  he  was  without  rea 
son,  and  in  defiance  of  the  tacit  unwillingness  of  the 
person  he  had  come  to  see ;  she  certainly  had  given 
him  no  invitation,  she  had  given  him  no  permission  to 
come.  For  the  moment,  in  his  shame,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  only  thing  for  him  was  to  go  back  to 
New  York  by  the  first  train  in  the  morning.  But 
what  then  would  the  girl  think  of  him  ?  Such  an  act 


240  THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

must  forever  end  the  intercourse  which  had  now  be 
come  an  essential  part  of  his  life.  That  voice  which 
had  haunted  him  so  long,  was  he  never  to  hear  it 
again  ?  Was  he  willing  to  renounce  forever  the  hope 
of  hearing  it  ? 

He  sat  at  his  supper  so  long,  nervelessly  turning 
his  doubts  over  in  his  mind,  that  the  waitress  came 
out  of  the  kitchen  and  drove  him  from  the  table  with 
her  severe,  impatient  stare. 

He  put  on  his  hat,  and  with  his  overcoat  on  his 
arm  he  started  out  for  a  walk  which  was  hopeless,  but 
not  so  aimless  as  he  feigned  to  himself.  The  air  was 
lullingly  warm  still  as  he  followed  the  long  village 
street  down  the  hill  toward  the  river,  where  the  lunge 
of  rapids  filled  the  dusk  with  a  sort  of  humid  uproar  ; 
then  he  turned  and  followed  it  back  past  the  hotel  as 
far  as  it  led  towards  the  open  country.  At  the  edge 
of  the  village  he  came  to  a  large,  old-fashioned  house, 
which  struck  him  as  typical,  with  its  outward  swaying 
fence  of  the  Greek  border  pattern,  and  its  gate-posts 
topped  by  tilting  urns  of  painted  wood.  The  house 
itself  stood  rather  far  back  from  the  street,  and  as  he 
passed  it  he  saw  that  it  was  approached  by  a  pathway 
of  brick  which  was  bordered  with  box.  Stalks  of  last 
year's  hollyhocks  and  lilacs  from  garden  beds  on 


THE   MAGIC   OF    A    VOICE.  241 

either  hand  lifted  their  sharp  points,  here  and  there 
broken  and  hanging  down.  It  was  curious  how  these 
details  insisted  through  the  twilight. 

He  walked  on  until  the  wooden  village  pathway 
ended  in  the  country  mud,  and  then  again  he  returned 
up  upon  his  steps.  As  he  reapproached  the  house  he 
saw  lights.  A  brighter  radiance  streamed  from  the 
hall  door,  which  was  apparently  open,  and  a  softer 
glow  flushed  the  windows  of  one  of  the  rooms  that 
flanked  the  hall. 

As  Langbourne  came  abreast  of  the  gate  the  tinkle 
of  a  gay  laugh  rang  out  to  him ;  then  ensued  a  mur 
mur  of  girls'  voices  in  the  room,  and  suddenly  this 
stopped,  and  the  voice  that  he  knew,  the  voice  that 
seemed  never  to  have  ceased  to  sound  in  his  nerves 
and  pulses,  rose  in  singing  words  set  to  the  Spanish 
air  of  La  Paloma. 

It  was  one  of  the  songs  he  had  sent  to  Miss  Simp 
son,  but  he  did  not  need  this  material  proof  that  it 
was  she  whom  he  now  heard.  There  was  no  question 
of  what  he  should  do.  All  doubt,  all  fear,  had  van 
ished;  he  had  again  but  one  impulse,  one  desire,  one 
purpose.  But  he  lingered  at  the  gate  till  the  song 
ended,  and  then  he  unlatched  it  and  started  up  the 
walk  towards  the  door.  It  seemed  to  him  a  long  way ; 
Q 


242  THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

he  almost  reeled  as  he  went ;  he  fumbled  tremulously 
for  the  bell-pull  beside  the  door,  while  a  confusion  of 
voices  in  the  adjoining  room — the  voices  which  had 
waked  him  from  his  sleep,  and  which  now  sounded 
like  voices  in  a  dream — came  out  to  him. 

The  light  from  the  lamp  hanging  in  the  hall  shone 
full  in  his  face,  and  the  girl  who  came  from  that  room 
beside  it  to  answer  his  ring  gave  a  sort  of  conscious 
jump  at  sight  of  him  as  he  uncovered  and  stood  bare 
headed  before  her. 

VI. 

SHE  must  have  recognized  him  from  the  photograph 
he  had  sent,  and  in  stature  and  figure  he  recognized 
her  as  the  ideal  he  had  cherished,  though  her  head 
was  gilded  with  the  light  from  the  lamp,  and  he  could 
not  not  make  out  whether  her  hair  was  dark  or  fair; 
her  face  was,  of  course,  a  mere  outline,  without  color 
or  detail  against  the  luminous  interior. 

He  managed  to  ask,  dry-tongued  and  with  a  heart 
that  beat  into  his  throat,  "  Is  Miss  Simpson  at  home  ? " 
and  the  girl  answered,  with  a  high,  gay  tinkle : 

"  Yes,  she's  at  home.     Won't  you  walk  in  ? " 

He  obeyed,  but  at  the  sound  of  her  silvery  voice 
his  heart  dropped  back  into  his  breast.  He  put  his 


THE    MAGIC    OF   A    VOICE.  243 

hat  and  coat  on  an  entry  chair,  and  prepared  to  follow 
her  into  the  room  she  had  come  out  of.  The  door 
stood  ajar,  and  he  said,  as  she  put  out  her  hand  to 
push  it  open,  "  I  am  Mr.  Langbourne." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  answered  in  the  same  high,  gay 
tinkle,  which  he  fancied  had  now  a  note  of  laughter 
in  it. 

An  elderly  woman  of  a  ladylike  village  type  was 
sitting  with  some  needle-work  beside  a  little  table, 
and  a  young  girl  turned  on  the  piano-stool  and  rose 
to  receive  him.  "  My  aunt,  Mrs.  Simpson,  Mr.  Lang- 
bourne,"  said  the  girl  who  introduced  him  to  these 
presences,  and  she  added,  indicating  the  girl  at  the 
piano,  "  Miss  Simpson." 

They  all  three  bowed  silently,  and  in  the  hush  the 
sheet  on  the  music  frame  slid  from  the  piano  with  a 
sharp  clash,  and  skated  across  the  floor  to  Lang- 
bourne's  feet.  It  was  the  song  of  La  Paloma  which 
she  had  been  singing ;  he  picked  it  up,  and  she  re 
ceived  it  from  him  with  a  drooping  head,  and  an 
effect  of  guilty  embarrassment. 

She  was  short  and  of  rather  a  full  figure,  though 
not  too  full.  She  was  not  plain,  but  she  was  by  no 
means  the  sort  of  beauty  who  had  lived  in  Lang- 
bourne's  fancy  for  the  year  past.  The  oval  of  her 


244:  THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

face  was  squared ;  her  nose  was  arched ;  she  had  a 
pretty,  pouting  mouth,  and  below  it  a  deep  dimple  in 
her  chin ;  her  eyes  were  large  and  dark,  and  they  had 
the  questioning  look  of  near-sighted  eyes;  her  hair 
was  brown.  There  was  a  humorous  tremor  in  her 
lips,  even  with  the  prim  stress  she  put  upon  them  in 
saying,  "  Oh,  thank  you,"  in  a  thick  whisper  of  the 
voice  he  knew. 

"  And  I,"  said  the  other  girl,  "  am  Juliet  Bingham. 
Won't  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Langbourne  ? "  She  pushed 
towards  him  the  arm-chair  before  her,  and  he  dropped 
into  it.  She  took  her  place  on  the  hair-cloth  sofa, 
and  Miss  Simpson  sank  back  upon  the  piano-stool  with 
a  painful  provisionality,  while  her  eyes  sought  Miss 
Bingham's  in  a  sort  of  admiring  terror. 

Miss  Bingham  was  easily  mistress  of  the  situation ; 
she  did  not  try  to  bring  Miss  Simpson  into  the  con 
versation,  but  she  contrived  to  make  Mrs.  Simpson 
ask  Langbourne  when  he  arrived  at  Upper  Ashton 
Falls ;  and  she  herself  asked  him  when  he  had  left 
New  York,  with  many  apposite  suppositions  concern 
ing  the  difference  in  the  season  in  the  two  latitudes. 
She  presumed  he  was  staying  at  the  Falls  House,  and 
she  said,  always  in  her  high,  gay  tinkle,  that  it  was 
very  pleasant  there  in  the  summer  time.  He  did  not 


THE    MAGIC    OP    A    VOICE.  245 

know  what  he  answered.  He  was  aware  that  from 
time  to  time  Miss  Simpson  said  something  in  a  fright 
ened  undertone.  He  did  not  know  how  long  it  was 
before  Mrs.  Simpson  made  an  errand  out  of  the  room, 
in  the  abeyance  which  age  practises  before  youthful 
society  in  the  country ;  he  did  not  know  how  much 
longer  it  was  before  Miss  Bingham  herself  jumped 
actively  up,  and  said,  Now  she  would  run  over  to 
Jenny's,  if  Mr.  Langbourne  would  excuse  her,  and  tell 
her  that  they  could  not  go  the  next  day. 

"It  will  do  just  as  well  in  the  morning,"  Miss 
Simpson  pitifully  entreated. 

"  No,  she's  got  to  know  to-night,"  said  Miss  Bing 
ham,  and  she  said  she  should  find  Mr.  Langbourne 
there  when  she  got  back.  He  knew  that  in  compli 
ance  with  the  simple  village  tradition  he  was  being 
purposely  left  alone  with  Miss  Simpson,  as  rightfully 
belonging  to  her.  Miss  Bingham  betrayed  no  inten- 
tionality  to  him,  but  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  mocking 
consciousness  in  the  sidelong  look  she  gave  Miss 
Simpson  as  she  went  out ;  and  if  he  had  not  known 
before  he  perceived  then,  in  the  vanishing  oval  of  her 
cheek,  the  corner  of  her  arched  eyebrow,  the  point  of 
her  classic  nose,  the  original  of  the  photograph  he  had 
been  treasuring  as  Miss  Simpson's, 


24:6  THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE. 

VII. 

"  IT  was  her  picture  I  sent  you,"  said  Miss  Simpson. 
She  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence  to  which  Miss 
Bingham  abandoned  them,  but  she  did  not  speak  till 
her  friend  had  closed  the  outer  door  behind  her  and 
was  tripping  down  the  brick  walk  to  the  gate. 

"Yes,"  said  Langbourne,  in  a  dryness  which  he 
could  not  keep  himself  from  using. 

The  girl  must  have  felt  it,  and  her  voice  faltered  a 
very  little  as  she  continued.  "  We — I — did  it  for 
fun.  I  meant  to  tell  you.  I — " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Langbourne.  "  I  had  no 
business  to  expect  yours,  or  to  send  you  mine."  But 
he  believed  that  he  had ;  that  his  faithful  infatuation 
had  somehow  earned  him  the  right  to  do  what  he  had 
done,  and  to  hope  for  what  he  had  not  got ;  without 
formulating  the  fact,  he  divined  that  she  believed  it 
too.  Between  the  man-soul  and  the  woman-soul  it 
can  never  go  so  far  as  it  had  gone  in  their  case  with 
out  giving  them  claims  upon  each  other  which  neither 
can  justly  deny. 

She  did  not  attempt  to  deny  it.  "  I  oughtn't  to 
have  done  it,  and  I  ought  to  have  told  you  at  once — 
the  next  letter — but  I — you  said  you  were  coming, 


THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE.  247 

and  I  thought  if  you  did  come — I  didn't  really  expect 
you  to  ;  and  it  was  all  a  joke, — off-hand." 

It  was  very  lame,  but  it  was  true,  and  it  was  pite 
ous  ;  yet  Langbourne  could  not  relent.  His  grievance 
was  not  with  what  she  had  done,  but  what  she  was ; 
not  what  she  really  was,  but  what  she  materially  was ; 
her  looks,  her  figure,  her  stature,  her  whole  presence, 
so  different  from  that  which  he  had  been  carrying  in 
his  mind,  and  adoring  for  a  year  past. 

If  it  was  ridiculous,  and  if  with  her  sense  of  the 
ridiculous  she  felt  it  so,  she  was  unable  to  take  it 
lightly,  or  to  make  him  take  it  lightly.  At  some  faint 
gleams  which  passed  over  her  face  he  felt  himself  in 
vited  to  regard  it  less  seriously  ;  but  he  did  not  try, 
even  provisionally,  and  they  fell  into  a  silence  that 
neither  seemed  to  have  the  power  of  breaking. 

It  must  be  broken,  however;  something  must  be 
done;  they  could  not  sit  there  dumb  forever.  He 
looked  at  the  sheet  of  music  on  the  piano  and  said, 
"  I  see  you  have  been  trying  that  song.  Do  you  like 
it?" 

"  Yes,  very  much,"  and  now  for  the  first  time  she 
got  her  voice  fairly  above  a  whisper.  She  took  the 
sheet  down  from  the  music-rest  and  looked  at  the 
picture  of  the  lithographed  title.  It  was  of  a  tiled 


248  THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

roof  lifted  among  cypresses  and  laurels  with  pigeons 
strutting  on  it  and  sailing  over  it. 

"  It  was  that  picture,"  said  Langbourne,  since  he 
must  say  something,  "that  I  believe  I  got  the  song 
for ;  it  made  me  think  of  the  roof  of  an  old  Spanish 
house  I  saw  in  Southern  California." 

"  It  must  be  nice,  out  there,"  said  Miss  Simpson, 
absently  staring  at  the  picture.  She  gathered  herself 
together  to  add,  pointlessly,  "  Juliet  says  she's  going 
to  Europe.  Have  you  ever  been  ? " 

"  Not  to  Europe,  no.  I  always  feel  as  if  I  wanted 
to  see  my  own  country  first.  Is  she  going  soon  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  Juliet  ?  Oh,  no  !  She  was  just  saying 
so.  I  don't  believe  she's  engaged  her  passage  yet." 

There  was  invitation  to  greater  ease  in  this,  and  her 
voice  began  to  have  the  tender,  coaxing  quality  which 
had  thrilled  his  heart  when  he  heard  it  first.  But 
the  space  of  her  variance  from  his  ideal  was  between 
them,  and  the  voice  reached  him  faintly  across  it. 

The  situation  grew  more  and  more  painful  for  her, 
he  could  see,  as  well  as  for  him.  She  too  was  feeling 
the  anomaly  of  their  having  been  intimates  without 
being  acquaintances.  They  necessarily  met  as  strang 
ers  after  the  exchange  of  letters  in  which  they  had 
spoken  with  the  confidence  of  friends. 


THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  249 

Langbourne  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  some  middle 
ground  where  they  could  come  together  without  that 
effect  of  chance  encounter  which  had  reduced  them 
to  silence.  He  could  not  recur  to  any  of  the  things 
they  had  written  about ;  so  far  from  wishing  to  do 
this,  he  had  almost  a  terror  of  touching  upon  them  by 
accident,  and  he  felt  that  she  shrank  from  them  too, 
as  if  they  involved  a  painful  misunderstanding  which 
could  not  be  put  straight. 

He  asked  questions  about  Upper  Ashton  Falls,  but 
these  led  up  to  what  she  had  said  of  it  in  her  letters ; 
he  tried  to  speak  of  the  winter  in  New  York,  and  he 
remembered  that  every  week  he  had  given  her  a  full 
account  of  his  life  there.  They  must  go  beyond  their 
letters  or  they  must  fall  far  back  of  them. 

VIII. 

IN  their  attempts  to  talk  he  was  aware  that  she  was 
seconding  all  his  endeavors  with  intelligence,  and  with 
a  humorous  subtlety  to  which  he  could  not  pretend. 
She  was  suffering  from  their  anomalous  position  as 
much  as  he,  but  she  had  the  means  of  enjoying  it 
while  he  had  not.  After  half  an  hour  of  these  defeats 
Mrs.  Simpson  operated  a  diversion  by  coming  in  with 
two  glasses  of  lemonade  on  a  tray  and  some  slices  of 


250  THE   MAGIC    OF   A   VOICE. 

sponge-cake.  She  offered  this  refreshment  first  to 
Langbourne  and  then  to  her  niece,  and  they  both 
obediently  took  a  glass,  and  put  a  slice  of  cake  in  the 
saucer  which  supported  the  glass.  She  said  to  each 
in  turn,  "Won't  you  take  some  lemonade?  Won't 
you  have  a  piece  of  cake  2 "  and  then  went  out  with 
her  empty  tray,  and  the  air  of  having  fulfilled  the 
duties  of  hospitality  to  her  niece's  company. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Simpson,  "  but  it's  rath 
er  early  in  the  season  for  cold  lemonade,"  and  Lang- 
bourne,  instead  of  laughing,  as  her  tone  invited  him 
to  do,  said : 

"  It's  very  good,  I'm  sure."  But  this  seemed  too 
stiffly  ungracious,  and  he  added :  "  What  delicious 
sponge-cake  !  You  never  get  this  out  of  New  Eng 
land." 

"  We  have  to  do  something  to  make  up  for  our 
doughnuts,"  Miss  Simpson  suggested. 

"Oh,  I  like  doughnuts  too,"  said  Langbourne. 
"  But  you  can't  get  the  right  kind  of  doughnuts,  eith 
er,  in  New  York." 

They  began  to  talk  about  cooking.  He  told  her  of 
the  tamales  which  he  had  first  tasted  in  San  Francisco, 
and  afterward  found  superabundantly  in  New  York ; 
they  both  made  a  great  deal  of  the  topic ;  Miss  Simp- 


THE    MAGIC    OF    A   VOICE.  251 

son  had  never  heard  of  tamales.  He  became  solemnly 
animated  in  their  exegesis,  and  she  showed  a  resolute 
interest  in  them. 

They  were  in  the  midst  of  the  forced  discussion, 
when  they  heard  a  quick  foot  on  the  brick  walk,  but 
they  had  both  fallen  silent  when  Miss  Bingham 
flounced  elastically  in  upon  them.  She  seemed  to 
take  in  with  a  keen  glance  which  swept  them  from 
her  lively  eyes  that  they  had  not  been  getting  on,  and 
she  had  the  air  of  taking  them  at  once  in  hand. 

"  Well,  it's  all  right  about  Jenny,"  she  said  to  Miss 
Simpson.  "  She'd  a  good  deal  rather  go  day  after 
to-morrow,  anyway.  What  have  you  been  talking 
about  ?  I  don't  want  to  make  you  go  over  the  same 
ground.  Have  you  got  through  with  the  weather? 
The  moon's  out,  and  it  feels  more  like  the  beginning 
of  June  than  the  last  of  April.  I  shut  the  front  door 
against  dor-bugs;  I  couldn't  help  it,  though  they 
won't  be  here  for  six  weeks  yet.  Do  you  have  dor- 
bugs  in  New  York,  Mr.  Langbourne  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  There  may  be  some  in  the  Park," 
he  answered. 

"  We  think  a  great  deal  of  our  dor-bugs  in  Upper 
Ashton,"  said  Miss  Simpson  demurely,  looking  down. 
'*  We  don't  know  what  we  should  do  without  them." 


252  THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE. 

"  Lemonade  1 "  exclaimed  Miss  Bingham,  catching 
sight  of  the  glasses  and  saucers  on  the  corner  of  the 
piano,  where  Miss  Simpson  had  allowed  Langbourne 
to  put  them.  "  Has  Aunt  Elmira  been  giving  you 
lemonade  while  I  was  gone  ?  I  will  just  see  about 
that !  "  She  whipped  out  of  the  room,  and  was  back 
in  a  minute  with  a  glass  in  one  hand  and  a  bit  of 
sponge-cake  between  the  fingers  of  the  other.  "  She 
had  kept  some  for  me  !  Have  you  sung  Paloma  for 
Mr.  Langbourne,  Barbara  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Barbara,  "  we  hadn't  got  round  to  it, 
quite." 

"  Oh,  do  !  "  Langbourne  entreated,  and  he  wondered 
that  he  had  not  asked  her  before ;  it  would  have  saved 
them  from  each  other. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  cried  Juliet  Bingham,  and  she 
gulped  the  last  draught  of  her  lemonade  upon  a  final 
morsel  of  sponge-cake,  and  was  down  at  the  piano 
while  still  dusting  the  crumbs  from  her  fingers.  She 
struck  the  refractory  sheet  of  music  flat  upon  the  rack 
with  her  palm,  and  then  tilted  her  head  over  her  shoul 
der  towards  Langbourne,  who  had  risen  with  some 
vague  notion  of  turning  the  sheets  of  the  song.  "  Do 
you  sing  ?  " 

«  Oh,  no.     But  I  like—" 


THE   MAGIC    OF   A   VOICE.  253 

"  Are  you  ready,  Bab  ?  "  she  asked,  ignoring  him ; 
and  she  dashed  into  the  accompaniment. 

He  sat  down  in  his  chair  behind  the  two  girls, 
where  they  could  not  see  his  face. 

Barbara  began  rather  weakly,  but  her  voice  gath 
ered  strength,  and  then  poured  full  volume  to  the  end, 
where  it  weakened  again.  He  knew  that  she  was 
taking  refuge  from  him  in  the  song,  and  in  the  magic 
of  her  voice  he  escaped  from  the  disappointment  he 
had  been  suffering.  He  let  his  head  drop  and  his 
eyelids  fall,  and  in  the  rapture  of  her  singing  he  got 
back  what  he  had  lost;  or  rather,  he  lost  himself  again 
to  the  illusion  which  had  grown  so  precious  to  him. 

Juliet  Bingham  sounded  the  last  note  almost  as  she 
rose  from  the  piano  ;  Barbara  passed  her  handkerchief 
over  her  forehead,  as  if  to  wipe  the  heat  from  it,  but 
he  believed  that  this  was  a  ruse  to  dry  her  eyes  in  it : 
they  shone  with  a  moist  brightness  in  the  glimpse  he 
caught  of  them.  He  had  risen,  and  they  all  stood 
talking ;  or  they  all  stood,  and  Juliet  talked.  She  did 
not  offer  to  sit  down  again,  and  after  stiffly  thanking 
them  both,  he  said  he  must  be  going,  and  took  leave 
of  them.  Juliet  gave  his  hand  a  nervous  grip  ;  Barba 
ra's  touch  was  lax  and  cold ;  the  parting  with  her  was 
painful ;  he  believed  that  she  felt  it  so  as  much  as  he. 


254:  THE    MAGIC   OF    A   VOICE. 

The  girls'  voices  followed  him  down  the  walk, — 
Juliet's  treble,  and  Barbara's  contralto, — and  he  be 
lieved  that  they  were  making  talk  purposely  against  a 
pressure  of  silence,  and  did  not  know  what  they  were 
saying.  It  occurred  to  him  that  they  had  not  asked 
how  long  he  was  staying,  or  invited  him  to  come 
again :  he  had  not  thought  to  ask  if  he  might ;  and  in 
the  intolerable  inconclusiveness  of  this  ending  he  fal 
tered  at  the  gate  till  the  lights  in  the  windows  of  the 
parlor  disappeared,  as  if  carried  into  the  hall,  and  then 
they  twinkled  into  darkness.  From  an  upper  entry 
window,  which  reddened  with  a  momentary  flush  and 
was  then  darkened,  a  burst  of  mingled  laughter  came. 
The  girls  must  have  thought  him  beyond  hearing,  and 
he  fancied  the  laugh  a  burst  of  hysterical  feeling  in 
them  both. 

IX. 

LANGBOURNE  went  to  bed  as  soon  as  he  reached  his 
hotel  because  he  found  himself  spent  with  the  experi 
ence  of  the  evening ;  but  as  he  rested  from  his  fatigue 
he  grew  wakeful,  and  he  tried  to  get  its  whole  meas 
ure  and  meaning  before  him.  He  had  a  methodical 
nature,  with  a  necessity  for  order  in  his  motions,  and 
he  now  balanced  one  fact  against  another  none  the 


THE   MAGIC    OF   A   VOICE.  255 

less  passionately  because  the  process  was  a  series  of 
careful  recognitions.  He  perceived  that  the  dream  in 
which  he  had  lived  for  the  year  past  was  not  wholly 
an  illusion.  One  of  the  girls  whom  he  had  heard  hut 
not  seen  was  what  he  had  divined  her  to  be :  a  domi 
nant  influence,  a  control  to  which  the  other  was  pas 
sively  obedient.  He  had  not  erred  greatly  as  to  the 
face  or  figure  of  the  superior,  but  he  had  given  all  the 
advantages  to  the  wrong  person.  The  voice,  indeed, 
the  spell  which  had  bound  him,  belonged  with  the 
one  to  whom  he  had  attributed  it,  and  the  qualities 
with  which  it  was  inextricably  blended  in  his  fancy 
were  hers ;  she  was  more  like  his  ideal  than  the  other, 
though  he  owned  that  the  other  was  a  charming  girl 
too,  and  that  in  the  thin  treble  of  her  voice  lurked  a 
potential  fascination  which  might  have  made  itself 
ascendently  felt  if  he  had  happened  to  feel  it  first. 

There  was  a  dangerous  instant  in  which  he  had  a 
perverse  question  of  changing  his  allegiance.  This 
passed  into  another  moment,  almost  as  perilous,  of 
confusion  through  a  primal  instinct  of  the  man's  by 
which  he  yields  a  double  or  a  divided  allegiance  and 
simultaneously  worships  at  two  shrines ;  in  still  an 
other  breath  he  was  aware  that  this  was  madness. 

If  he  had  been  younger,  he  would   have  had  no 


256  THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

doubt  as  to  his  right  in  the  circumstances.  He  had 
simply  corresponded  all  winter  with  Miss  Simpson ; 
but  though  he  had  opened  his  heart  freely  and  had 
invited  her  to  the  same  confidence  with  him,  he  had 
not  committed  himself,  and  he  had  a  right  to  drop 
the  whole  affair.  She  would  have  no  right  to  com 
plain ;  she  had  not  committed  herself  either:  they 
could  both  come  off  unscathed.  But  he  was  now 
thirty-five,  and  life  had  taught  him  something  con 
cerning  the  rights  of  others  which  he  could  not  ignore. 
By  seeking  her  confidence  and  by  offering  her  his,  he 
had  given  her  a  claim  which  was  none  the  less  bind 
ing  because  it  was  wholly  tacit.  There  had  been  a 
time  when  he  might  have  justified  himself  in  dropping 
the  affair ;  that  was  when  she  had  failed  to  answer  his 
letter ;  but  he  had  come  to  see  her  in  defiance  of  her 
silence,  and  now  he  could  not  withdraw,  simply  be 
cause  he  was  disappointed,  without  cruelty,  without 
atrocity. 

This  was  what  the  girl's  wistful  eyes  said  to  him ; 
this  was  the  reproach  of  her  trembling  lips ;  this  was 
the  accusation  of  her  dejected  figure,  as  she  drooped 
in  vision  before  him  on  the  piano-stool  and  passed 
her  hand  soundlessly  over  the  key-board.  He  tried 
to  own  to  her  that  he  was  disappointed,  but  he  could 


THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  257 

not  get  the  words  out  of  his  throat ;  and  now  in  her 
presence,  as  it  were,  he  was  not  sure  that  he  was  dis 
appointed. 


HE  woke  late,  with  a  longing  to  put  his  two  senses 
of  her  to  the  proof  of  day ;  and  as  early  in  the  fore 
noon  as  he  could  hope  to  see  her,  he  walked  out  tow 
ards  her  aunt's  house.  It  was  a  mild,  dull  morning, 
with  a  misted  sunshine ;  in  the  little  crimson  tassels 
of  the  budded  maples  overhead  the  bees  were  droning. 

The  street  was  straight,  and  while  he  was  yet  a 
good  way  off  he  saw  the  gate  open  before  the  house, 
and  a  girl  whom  he  recognized  as  Miss  Bingham  close 
it  behind  her.  She  then  came  down  under  the  maples 
towards  him,  at  first  swiftly,  and  then  more  and  more 
slowly,  until  finally  she  faltered  to  a  stop.  He  quick 
ened  his  own  pace  and  came  up  to  her  with  a  "  Good- 
morning  "  called  to  her  and  a  lift  of  his  hat.  She 
returned  neither  salutation,  and  said,  "  I  was  coming 
to  see  you,  Mr.  Langbourne."  Her  voice  was  still  a 
silver  bell,  but  it  was  not  gay,  and  her  face  was  se 
verely  unsmiling. 

"  To  see  me  ?  "  he  returned.     "  Has  anything — " 

"  No,  there's  nothing  the  matter.     But — I  should 

B 


258  THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

like  to  talk  with  you."  She  held  a  little  packet,  tied 
with  blue  ribbon,  in  her  intertwined  hands,  and  she 
looked  urgently  at  him. 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad,"  Langbourne  began,  but  she 
interrupted, — 

"  Should  you  mind  walking  down  to  the  Falls  ? " 

He  understood  that  for  some  reason  she  did  not 
wish  him  to  pass  the  house,  and  he  bowed.  "  Wher 
ever  you  like.  I  hope  Mrs.  Simpson  is  well  ?  And 
Miss  Simpson  ? " 

"  Oh,  perfectly,"  said  Miss  Bingham,  and  they 
fenced  with  some  questions  and  answers  of  no  interest 
till  they  had  walked  back  through  the  village  to  the 
Falls  at  the  other  end  of  it,  where  the  saw  in  a  mill 
was  whirring  through  a  long  pine  log,  and  the  water, 
streaked  with  sawdust,  was  spreading  over  the  rocks 
below  and  flowing  away  with  a  smooth  swiftness. 
The  ground  near  the  mill  was  piled  with  fresh-sawed, 
fragrant  lumber  and  strewn  with  logs. 

Miss  Bingham  found  a  comfortable  place  on  one  of 
the  logs,  and  began  abruptly: 

"You  may  think  it's  pretty  strange,  Mr.  Lang- 
bourne,  but  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  Miss  Simp 
son."  She  seemed  to  satisfy  a  duty  to  convention  by 
saying  Miss  Simpson  at  the  outset,  and  after  that  she 


THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  259 

called  her  friend  Barbara.  "  I've  brought  you  your 
letters  to  her,"  and  she  handed  him  the  packet  she 
had  been  holding.  "  Have  you  got  hers  with  you  ? " 

"  They  are  at  the  hotel,"  answered  Langbourne. 

"  Well,  that's  right,  then.  I  thought  perhaps  you 
had  brought  them.  You  see,"  Miss  Bingham  contin 
ued,  much  more  cold-bloodedly  than  Langbourne 
thought  she  need,  "  we  talked  it  over  last  night,  and 
it's  too  silly.  That's  the  way  Barbara  feels  herself. 
The  fact  is,"  she  went  on  confidingly,  and  with  the 
air  of  saying  something  that  he  would  appreciate,  "  I 
always  thought  it  was  some  young  man,  and  so  did 
Barbara;  or  I  don't  believe  she  would  ever  have  an 
swered  your  first  letter." 

Langbourne  knew  that  he  was  not  a  young  man  in 
a  young  girl's  sense ;  but  no  man  likes  to  have  it  said 
that  he  is  old.  Besides,  Miss  Bingham  herself  was 
not  apparently  in  her  first  quarter  of  a  century,  and 
probably  Miss  Simpson  would  not  see  the  earliest 
twenties  again.  He  thought  none  the  worse  of  her 
for  that;  but  he  felt  that  he  was  not  so  unequally 
matched  in  time  with  her  that  she  need  take  the  atti 
tude  with  regard  to  him  which  Miss  Bingham  indi 
cated.  He  was  not  the  least  gray  nor  the  least  bald, 
and  his  tall  figure  had  kept  its  youthful  lines. 


260  THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

Perhaps  his  face  manifested  something  of  his  sup 
pressed  resentment.  At  any  rate,  Miss  Bingham  said 
apologetically,  "  I  mean  that  if  we  had  known  it  was 
a  serious  person  we  should  have  acted  differently.  I 
oughtn't  to  have  let  her  thank  you  for  those  seeds 
man's  catalogues ;  but  I  thought  it  couldn't  do  any 
harm.  And  then,  after  your  letters  began  to  come, 
we  didn't  know  just  when  to  stop  them.  To  tell  you 
the  truth,  Mr.  Langbourne,  we  got  so  interested  we 
couldn't  bear  to  stop  them.  You  wrote  so  much  about 
your  life  in  New  York,  that  it  was  like  a  visit  there 
every  week ;  and  it's  pretty  quiet  at  Upper  Ashton  in 
the  winter  time." 

She  seemed  to  refer  this  fact  to  Langbourne 
for  sympathetic  appreciation;  he  said  mechanically, 
"Yes." 

She  resumed :  "  But  when  your  picture  came,  I  said 
it  had  got  to  stop ;  and  so  we  just  sent  back  my  pict 
ure, — or  I  don't  know  but  what  Barbara  did  it  with 
out  asking  me, — and  we  did  suppose  that  would  be 
the  last  of  it ;  when  you  wrote  back  you  were  coming 
here,  we  didn't  believe  you  really  would  unless  we  said 
so.  That's  all  there  is  about  it ;  and  if  there  is  any 
body  to  blame,  I  am  the  one.  Barbara  would  never 
have  done  it  in  the  world  if  I  hadn't  put  her  up  to  it." 


THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  261 

In  these  words  the  implication  that  Miss  Bingham 
had  operated  the  whole  affair  finally  unfolded  itself. 
But  distasteful  as  the  fact  was  to  Langbourne,  and 
wounding  as  was  the  realization  that  he  had  been  led 
on  by  this  witness  of  his  infatuation  for  the  sake  of 
the  entertainment  which  his  letters  gave  two  girls  in 
the  dull  winter  of  a  mountain  village,  there  was  still 
greater  pain,  with  an  additional  embarrassment,  in  the 
regret  which  the  words  conveyed.  It  appeared  that 
it  was  not  he  who  had  done  the  wrong ;  he  had  suf 
fered  it,  and  so  far  from  having  to  offer  reparation  to 
a  young  girl  for  having  unwarrantably  wrought  her 
up  expect  of  him  a  step  from  which  he  afterwards  re 
coiled,  he  had  the  duty  of  forgiving  her  a  trespass  on 
his  own  invaded  sensibilities.  It  was  humiliating  to 
his  vanity ;  it  inflicted  a  hurt  to  something  better  than 
his  vanity.  He  began  very  uncomfortably :  "  It's  all 
right,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned.  I  had  no  business  to 
address  Miss  Simpson  in  the  first  place — " 

"  Well,"  Miss  Bingham  interrupted,  "  that's  what  I 
told  Barbara ;  but  she  got  to  feeling  badly  about  it ; 
she  thought  if  you  had  taken  the  trouble  to  send  back 
the  circular  that  she  dropped  in  the  hotel,  she  couldn't 
do  less  than  acknowledge  it,  and  she  kept  on  so  about 
it  that  I  had  to  let  her.  That  was  the  first  false  step." 


262  THE   MAGIC   OF    A   VOICE. 

These  words,  while  they  showed  Miss  Simpson  in 
a  more  amiable  light,  did  not  enable  Langbourne  to 
see  Miss  Bingham's  merit  so  clearly.  In  the  method 
ical  and  consecutive  working  of  his  emotions,  he  was 
aware  that  it  was  no  longer  a  question  of  divided  alle 
giance,  and  that  there  could  never  be  any  such  ques 
tion  again.  He  perceived  that  Miss  Bingham  had  not 
such  a  good  figure  as  he  had  fancied  the  night  before, 
and  that  her  eyes  were  set  rather  too  near  together. 
While  he  dropped  his  own  eyes,  and  stood  trying  to 
think  what  he  should  say  in  answer  to  her  last  speech, 
her  high,  sweet  voice  tinkled  out  in  gay  challenge, 
"  How  do,  John  ?  " 

He  looked  up  and  saw  a  square-set,  brown -faced 
young  man  advancing  towards  them  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  ;  he  came  deliberately,  finding  his  way  in  and 
out  among  the  logs,  till  he  stood  smiling  down,  through 
a  heavy  mustache  and  thick  black  lashes,  into  the  face 
of  the  girl,  as  if  she  were  some  sort  of  joke.  The 
sun  struck  into  her  face  as  she  looked  up  at  him,  and 
made  her  frown  with  a  knot  between  her  brows  that 
pulled  her  eyes  still  closer  together,  and  she  asked, 
with  no  direct  reference  to  his  shirt-sleeves, — "  A'n't 
you  forcing  the  season  ? " 

"  Don't  want  to  let  the  summer  get  the  start  of 


THE    MAGIC    OF   A    VOICE.  263 

you,"  the  young  man  generalized,  and  Miss  Bingham 
said, — 

"  Mr.  Langbourne,  Mr.  Dickery."  The  young  man 
silently  shook  hands  with  Langbourne,  whom  he  took 
into  the  joke  of  Miss  Bingham  with  another  smile ; 
and  she  went  on :  "  Say,  John,  I  wish  you'd  tell  Jenny 
I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  go  this  afternoon,  after 
all." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  I  suppose  you're  coming  too  ? "  she  suggested. 

"  Hadn't  heard  of  it,"  he  returned. 

"  Well,  you  have  now.  You've  got  to  be  ready  at 
two  o'clock." 

"  That  so  ? "  the  young  fellow  inquired.  Then  he 
walked  away  among  the  logs,  as  casually  as  he  had 
arrived,  and  Miss  Bingham  rose  and  shook  some  bits 
of  bark  from  her  skirt. 

"  Mr.  Dickery  is  owner  of  the  mills,"  she  explained, 
and  she  explored  Langbourne's  face  for  an  intelligence 
which  she  did  not  seem  to  find  there.  He  thought, 
indifferently  enough,  that  this  young  man  had  heard 
the  two  girls  speak  of  him,  and  had  satisfied  a  natural 
curiosity  in  coming  to  look  him  over ;  it  did  not  occur 
to  him  that  he  had  any  especial  relation  to  Miss  Bing 
ham. 


264  THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

She  walked  up  into  the  village  with  Langbourne, 
and  he  did  not  know  whether  he  was  to  accompany 
her  home  or  not.  But  she  gave  him  no  sign  of  dis 
missal  till  she  put  her  hand  upon  her  gate  to  pull  it 
open  without  asking  him  to  come  in.  Then  he  said, 
"  I  will  send  Miss  Simpson's  letters  to  her  at  once." 

"  Oh,  any  time  will  do,  Mr.  Langbourne,"  she  re 
turned  sweetly.  Then,  as  if  it  had  just  occurred  to 
her,  she  added,  "  We're  going  after  May-flowers  this 
afternoon.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  come  too  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  began,  "  whether  I  shall  have 
the  time—" 

"  Why,  you're  not  going  away  to-day  ! " 

"  I  expected — I —  But  if  you  don't  think  I  shall 
be  intruding — " 

"  Why,  /  should  be  delighted  to  have  you.  Mr. 
Dickery's  going,  and  Jenny  Dickery,  and  Barbara.  I 
don't  believe  it  will  rain. 

"  Then,  if  I  may,"  said  Langbourne. 

"  Why,  certainly,  Mr.  Langbourne  ! "  she  cried,  and 
he  started  away.  But  he  had  gone  only  a  few  rods 
when  he  wheeled  about  and  hurried  back.  The  girl 
was  going  up  the  walk  to  the  house,  looking  over  her 
shoulder  after  him ;  at  his  hurried  return  she  stopped 
and  came  down  to  the  gate  again. 


THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  265 

"  Miss  Bingham,  I  think — I  think  I  had  better  not 

go." 

"  Why,  just  as  you  feel  about  it,  Mr.  Langbourne," 
she  assented. 

"  I  will  bring  the  letters  this  evening,  if  you  will 
let  ine — if  Miss  Simpson — if  you  will  be  at  home." 

"We  shall  be  very  happy  to  see  you,  Mr.  Lang- 
bourne,"  said  the  girl  formally,  and  then  he  went  back 

to  his  hotel. 

XI. 

LANGBOURNE  could  not  have  told  just  why  he  had 
withdrawn  his  acceptance  of  Miss  Bingham's  invita 
tion.  If  at  the  moment  it  was  the  effect  of  a  quite 
reasonless  panic,  he  decided  later  that  it  was  because 
he  wished  to  think.  It  could  not  be  said,  however, 
that  he  did  think,  unless  thinking  consists  of  a  series 
of  dramatic  representations  which  the  mind  makes  to 
itself  from  a  given  impulse,  and  which  it  is  quite 
powerless  to  end.  All  the  afternoon,  which  Lang- 
bourne  spent  in  his  room,  his  mind  was  the  theatre  of 
scenes  with  Miss  Simpson,  in  which  he  perpetually 
evolved  the  motives  governing  him  from  the  begin 
ning,  and  triumphed  out  of  his  difficulties  and  embar 
rassments.  Her  voice,  as  it  acquiesced  in  all,  no  longer 
related  itself  to  that  imaginary  personality  which  had 


266  THE   MAGIC    OF   A    VOICE. 

inhabited  his  fancy.  That  was  gone  irrevocably  ;  and 
the  voice  belonged  to  the  likeness  of  Barbara,  and  no 
other ;  from  her  similitude,  little,  quaint,  with  her  hair 
of  cloudy  red  and  her  large,  dim-sighted  eyes,  it 
played  upon  the  spiritual  sense  within  him  with  the 
coaxing,  drolling,  mocking  charm  which  he  had  felt 
from  the  first.  It  blessed  him  with  intelligent  and 
joyous  forgiveness.  But  as  he  stood  at  her  gate  that 
evening  this  unmerited  felicity  fell  from  him.  He 
now  really  heard  her  voice,  through  the  open  door 
way,  but  perhaps  because  it  was  mixed  with  other 
voices — the  treble  of  Miss  Bingham,  and  the  bass  of 
a  man  who  must  be  the  Mr.  Dickery  he  had  seen  at 
the  saw  mills — he  turned  and  hurried  back  to  his  ho 
tel,  where  he  wrote  a  short  letter  saying  that  he  had 
decided  to  take  the  express  for  New  York  that  night. 
With  an  instinctive  recognition  of  her  authority  in 
the  affair,  or  with  a  cowardly  shrinking  from  direct 
dealing  with  Barbara,  he  wrote  to  Juliet  Bingham, 
and  he  addressed  to  her  the  packet  of  letters  which 
he  sent  for  Barbara.  Superficially,  he  had  done  what 
he  had  no  choice  but  to  do.  He  had  been  asked  to 
return  her  letters,  and  he  had  returned  them,  and 
brought  the  affair  to  an  end. 

In  his  long  ride  to  the  city  he  assured  himself  in 


THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  267 

vain  that  he  was  doing  right  if  he  was  not  sure  of  his 
feelings  towards  the  girl.  It  was  quite  because  he 
was  not  sure  of  his  feeling  that  he  could  not  be  sure 
he  was  not  acting  falsely  and  cruelly. 

The  fear  grew  upon  him  through  the  summer,  which 
he  spent  in  the  heat  and  stress  of  the  town.  In  his 
work  he  could  forget  a  little  the  despair  in  which  he 
lived ;  but  in  a  double  consciousness  like  that  of  the 
hypochondriac,  the  girl  whom  it  seemed  to  him  he 
had  deserted  was  visibly  and  audibly  present  with 
him.  Her  voice  was  always  in  his  inner  ear,  and  it 
visualized  her  looks  and  movements  to  his  inner  eye. 

Now  he  saw  and  understood  at  last  that  what  his 
heart  had  more  than  once  misgiven  him  might  be  the 
truth,  and  that  though  she  had  sent  back  his  letters, 
and  asked  her  own  in  return,  it  was  not  necessarily 
her  wish  that  he  should  obey  her  request.  It  might 
very  well  have  been  an  experiment  of  his  feeling  tow 
ards  her,  a  mute  quest  of  the  impression  she  had 
made  upon  him,  a  test  of  his  will  and  purpose,  an 
overture  to  a  clearer  and  truer  understanding  between 
them.  This  misgiving  became  a  conviction  from 
which  he  could  not  escape. 

He  believed  too  late  that  he  had  made  a  mistake, 
that  he  had  thrown  away  the  supreme  chance  of  his 


268  THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

life.  But  was  it  too  late  ?  When  he  could  bear  it 
no  longer,  he  began  to  deny  that  it  was  too  late.  He 
denied  it  even  to  the  pathetic  presence  which  haunted 
him,  and  in  which  the  magic  of  her  voice  itself  was 
merged  at  last,  so  that  he  saw  her  more  than  he  heard 
her.  He  overbore  her  weak  will  with  his  stronger 
will,  and  set  himself  strenuously  to  protest  to  her  real 
presence  what  he  now  always  said  to  her  phantom. 
When  his  partner  came  back  from  his  vacation,  Lang- 
bourne  told  him  that  he  was  going  to  take  a  day  or 
two  off. 

XII. 

HE  arrived  at  Upper  Ashton  Falls  long  enough  be 
fore  the  early  autumnal  dusk  to  note  that  the  crimson 
buds  of  the  maples  were  now  their  crimson  leaves,  but 
he  kept  as  close  to  the  past  as  he  could  by  not  going 
to  find  Barbara  before  the  hour  of  the  evening  when 
he  had  turned  from  her  gate  without  daring  to  see 
her.  It  was  a  soft  October  evening  now,  as  it  was  a 
soft  May  evening  then ;  and  there  was  a  mystical  hint 
of  unity  in  the  like  feel  of  the  dull,  mild  air.  Again 
voices  were  coming  out  of  the  open  doors  and  windows 
of  the  house,  and  they  were  the  same  voices  that  he 
had  last  heard  there. 


THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  269 

He  knocked,  and  after  a  moment  of  startled  hush 
within  Juliet  Bingham  came  to  the  door.  "  Why, 
Mr.  Langbourne ! "  she  screamed. 

"  I — I  should  like  to  come  in,  if  you  will  let  me," 
he  gasped  out. 

"  Why,  certainly,  Mr.  Langbourne,"  she  returned. 

He  had  not  dwelt  so  long  and  so  intently  on  the 
meeting  at  hand  without  considering  how  he  should 
account  for  his  coming,  and  he  had  formulated  a  con 
fession  of  his  motives.  But  he  had  never  meant  to 
make  it  to  Juliet  Bingham,  and  he  now  found  himself 
unable  to  allege  a  word  in  explanation  of  his  presence. 
He  followed  her  into  the  parlor.  Barbara  silently 
gave  him  her  hand  and  then  remained  passive  in  the 
background,  where  Dickery  held  aloof,  smiling  in 
what  seemed  his  perpetual  enjoyment  of  the  Juliet 
Bingham  joke.  She  at  once  put  herself  in  authority 
over  the  situation ;  she  made  Langbourne  let  her  have 
his  hat ;  she  seated  him  when  and  where  she  chose ; 
she  removed  and  put  back  the  lampshades ;  she  pulled 
up  and  pulled  down  the  window-blinds;  she  shut  the 
outer  door  because  of  the  night  air,  and  opened  it  be 
cause  of  the  unseasonable  warmth  within.  She  ex 
cused  Mrs.  Simpson's  absence  on  account  of  a  head 
ache,  and  asked  him  if  he  would  not  have  a  fan ;  when 


270  THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

he  refused  it  she  made  him  take  it,  and  while  he  sat 
helplessly  dangling  it  from  his  hand,  she  asked  him 
about  the  summer  he  had  had,  and  whether  he  had 
passed  it  in  New  York.  She  was  very  intelligent 
about  the  heat  in  New  York,  and  tactful  in  keeping 
the  one-sided  talk  from  falling.  Barbara  said  nothing 
after  a  few  faint  attempts  to  take  part  in  it,  and  Lang- 
bourne  made  briefer  and  briefer  answers.  His  reti 
cence  seemed  only  to  heighten  Juliet  Bingham's  sat 
isfaction,  and  she  said,  with  a  final  supremacy,  that 
she  had  been  intending  to  go  out  with  Mr.  Dickery 
to  a  business  meeting  of  the  book-club,  but  they  would 
be  back  before  Langbourne  could  get  away ;  she  made 
him  promise  to  wait  for  them.  He  did  not  know  if 
Barbara  looked  any  protest, — at  least  she  spoke  none, 
— and  Juliet  went  out  with  Dickery.  She  turned  at 
the  door  to  bid  Barbara  say,  if  any  one  called,  that 
she  was  at  the  book-club  meeting.  Then  she  disap 
peared,  but  reappeared  and  called,  "  See  here,  a  min 
ute,  Bab ! "  and  at  the  outer  threshold  she  detained 
Barbara  in  vivid  whisper,  ending  aloud,  "  Now  you 
be  sure  to  do  both,  Bab  !  Aunt  Elmira  will  tell  you 
where  the  things  are."  Again  she  vanished,  and  was 
gone  long  enough  to  have  reached  the  gate  and  come 
back  from  it.  She  was  renewing  all  her  whispered 


THE   MAGIC    OF   A   VOICE.  271 

and  out-spoken  charges  when  Dickery  showed  himself 
at  her  side,  put  his  hand  under  her  elbow,  and  wheeled 
her  about,  and  while  she  called  gayly  over  her  shoul 
der  to  the  others,  "  Did  you  ever  ?  "  walked  her  defin 
itively  out  of  the  house. 

Langbourne  did  not  suffer  the  silence  which  fol 
lowed  her  going  to  possess  him.  What  he  had  to  do 
he  must  do  quickly,  and  he  said,  "  Miss  Simpson,  may 
I  ask  you  one  question." 

"  Why,  if  you  won't  expect  me  to  answer  it,"  she 
suggested  quaintly. 

"  You  must  do  as  you  please  about  that.  It  has  to 
come  before  I  try  to  excuse  myself  for  being  here ; 
it's  the  only  excuse  I  can  offer.  It's  this:  Did  you 
send  Miss  Bingham  to  get  back  your  letters  from  me 
last  spring  ? " 

"  Why,  of  course  !  " 

"  I  mean,  was  it  your  idea  ? " 

"  We  thought  it  would  be  better." 

The  evasion  satisfied  Langbourne,  but  he  asked, 
"  Had  I  given  you  some  cause  to  distrust  me  at  that 
time  ? " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  protested.  "  We  got  to  talking  it 
over,  and — and  we  thought  we  had  better." 

"  Because  I  had  come  here  without  being  asked  ? " 


272  THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

"No,  no;  it  wasn't  that,"  the  girl  protested. 

"  I  know  I  oughtn't  to  have  come.  I  know  I 
oughtn't  to  have  written  to  you  in  the  beginning,  but 
you  had  let  me  write,  and  I  thought  you  would  let  me 
come.  I  tried  always  to  be  sincere  with  you ;  to  make 
you  feel  that  you  could  trust  me.  I  believe  that  I  am 
an  honest  man  ;  I  thought  I  was  a  better  man  for  hav 
ing  known  you  through  your  letters.  I  couldn't  tell 
you  how  much  they  had  been  to  me.  You  seemed  to 
think,  because  I  lived  in  a  large  place,  that  I  had  a 
great  many  friends ;  but  I  have  very  few  ;  I  might  say 
I  hadn't  any — such  as  I  thought  I  had  when  I  was 
writing  to  you.  Most  of  the  men  I  know  belong  to 
some  sort  of  clubs ;  but  I  don't.  I  went  to  New  York 
when  I  was  feeling  alone  in  the  world, — it  was  from 
something  that  had  happened  to  me  partly  through 
my  own  fault, — and  I've  never  got  over  being  alone 
there.  I've  never  gone  into  society;  I  don't  know 
what  society  is,  and  I  suppose  that's  why  I  am  acting 
differently  from  a  society  man  now.  The  only  change 
I  ever  had  from  business  was  reading  at  night :  I've 
got  a  pretty  good  library.  After  I  began  to  get  your 
letters,  I  went  out  more — to  the  theatre,  and  lectures, 
and  concerts,  and  all  sorts  of  things — so  that  I  could 
have  something  interesting  to  write  about ;  I  thought 


THE   MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  273 

you'd  get  tired  of  always  hearing  about  me.  And 
your  letters  filled  up  my  life,  so  that  I  didn't  seem 
alone  any  more.  I  read  them  all  hundreds  of  times; 
I  should  have  said  that  I  knew  them  by  heart,  if  they 
had  not  been  as  fresh  at  last  as  they  were  at  first.  I 
seemed  to  hear  you  talking  in  them."  He  stopped  as 
if  withholding  himself  from  what  he  had  nearly  said 
without  intending,  and  resumed :  "  It's  some  comfort 
to  know  that  you  didn't  want  them  back  because  you 
doubted  me,  or  my  good  faith." 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed,  Mr.  Langbourne,"  said  Barbara 
compassionately. 

"Then  why  did  you?" 

"  I  don't  know.     We—" 

"No;  not  <we.'     You!" 

She  did  not  answer  for  so  long  that  he  believed  she 
resented  his  speaking  so  peremptorily  and  was  not 
going  to  answer  him  at  all.  At  last  she  said,  "  I 
thought  you  would  rather  give  them  back."  She 
turned  and  looked  at  him,  with  the  eyes  which  he 
knew  saw  his  face  dimly,  but  saw  his  thought  clearly. 

"  What  made  you  think  that  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.     Didn't  you  want  to  ? " 

He  knew  that  the  fact  which  their  words  veiled  was 
now  the  first  thing  in  their  mutual  consciousness.  He 


274  THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE. 

spoke  the  truth  in  saying,  "  No,  I  never  wanted  to," 
but  this  was  only  a  mechanical  truth,  and  he  knew  it. 
He  had  an  impulse  to  put  the  burden  of  the  situation 
on  her,  and  press  her  to  say  why  she  thought  he 
wished  to  do  so ;  but  his  next  emotion  was  shame  for 
this  impulse.  A  thousand  times,  in  these  reveries  in 
which  he  had  imagined  meeting  her,  he  had  told  her 
first  of  all  how  he  had  overheard  her  talking  in  the 
room  next  his  own  in  the  hotel,  and  of  the  power  her 
voice  had  instantly  and  lastingly  had  upon  him.  But 
now,  with  a  sense  spiritualized  by  her  presence,  he 
perceived  that  this,  if  it  was  not  unworthy,  was  sec 
ondary,  and  that  the  right  to  say  it  was  not  yet  estab 
lished.  There  was  something  that  must  come  before 
this, — something  that  could  alone  justify  him  in  any 
further  step.  If  she  could  answer  him  first  as  he 
wished,  then  he  might  open  his  whole  heart  to  her,  at 
whatever  cost ;  he  was  not  greatly  to  blame,  if  he  did 
not  realize  that  the  cost  could  not  be  wholly  his,  as 
he  asked,  remotely  enough  from  her  question,  "  After 
I  wrote  that  I  was  coming  up  here,  and  you  did  not 
answer  me,  did  you  think  I  was  coming  ? " 

She  did  not  answer,  and  he  felt  that  he  had  been 
seeking  a  mean  advantage.  He  went  on :  "If  you 
didn't  expect  it,  if  you  never  thought  that  I  was  com- 


THE    MAGIC   OF   A    VOICE.  275 

ing,  there's  no  need  for  me  to  tell  you  anything 
else." 

Her  face  turned  towards  him  a  very  little,  but  not 
so  much  as  even  to  get  a  sidelong  glimpse  of  him ;  it 
was  as  if  it  were  drawn  by  a  magnetic  attraction ;  and 
she  said,  "  I  didn't  know  but  you  would  come." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you  why  I  came — the  only  thing 
that  gave  me  the  right  to  come  against  your  will,  if  it 
was  against  it.  I  came  to  ask  you  to  marry  me.  Will 
you  ?  " 

She  now  turned  and  looked  fully  at  him,  though  he 
was  aware  of  being  a  mere  blur  in  her  near-sighted 
vision. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  ask  it  now  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  And  have  you  wished  to  ask  it  ever  since  you  first 
saw  me  ? " 

He  tried  to  say  that  he  had,  but  he  could  not ;  he 
could  only  say,  "I  wish  to  ask  it  now  more  than 
ever." 

She  shook  her  head  slowly.  "  I'm  not  sure  how 
you  want  me  to  answer  you." 

"  Not  sure  ? " 

"  No.     I'm  afraid  I  might  disappoint  you  again." 

He  could  not  make  out  whether  she  was  laughing 


276  THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

at  him.  He  sat,  not  knowing  what  to  say,  and  he 
blurted  out,  "  Do  you  mean  that  you  won't  ? " 

"  I  shouldn't  want  you  to  make  another  mistake." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  " — he  was  going  to  say 
"  mean,"  but  he  substituted — "  wish.  If  you  wish 
for  more  time,  I  can  wait  as  long  as  you  choose." 

"  No,  I  might  wish  for  time,  if  there  was  anything 
more.  But  if  there's  nothing  else  you  have  to  tell 
me — then,  no,  I  cannot  marry  you." 

Langbourne  rose,  feeling  justly  punished,  somehow, 
but  bewildered  as  much  as  humbled,  and  stood  stu 
pidly  unable  to  go.  "  I  don't  know  what  you  could 
expect  me  to  say  after  you've  refused  me — " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  expect  anything." 

"  But  there  is  something  I  should  like  to  tell  you. 
I  know  that  I  behaved  that  night  as  if — as  if  I  hadn't 
come  to  ask  you — what  I  have ;  I  don't  bl^me  you  for 
not  trusting  me  now.  But  it  is  no  use  to  tell  you 
what  I  intended  if  it  is  all  over." 

He  looked  down  into  his  hat,  and  she  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "  I  think  I  ought  to  know.  Won't  you — sit 
down  ? " 

He  sat  down  again.  "  Then  I  will  tell  you  at  the 
risk  of —  But  there's  nothing  left  to  lose !  You 
know  how  it  is,  when  we  think  about  a  person  or  a 


THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE.  277 

place  before  we've  seen  them:  we  make  some  sort  of 
picture  of  them,  and  expect  them  to  be  like  it.  I 
don't  know  how  to  say  it ;  you  do  look  more  like  what 
I  thought  than  you  did  at  first.  I  suppose  I  must 
seem  a  fool  to  say  it ;  but  I  thought  you  were  tall,  and 
that  you  were — well ! — rather  masterful — " 

"Like  Juliet  Bingham?"  she  suggested,  with  a 
gleam  in  the  eye  next  him. 

"Yes,  like  Juliet  Bingham.  It  was  your  voice 
made  me  think — it  was  your  voice  that  first  made  me 
want  to  see  you,  that  made  me  write  to  you,  in  the 
beginning.  I  heard  you  talking  that  night  in  the  ho 
tel,  where  you  left  that  circular ;  you  were  in  the  room 
next  to  mine ;  and  I  wanted  to  come  right  up  here 
then ;  but  I  had  to  go  back  to  New  York,  and  so  I 
wrote  to  you.  When  your  letters  came,  I  always 
seemed  to  hear  you  speaking  in  them." 

"  And  when  you  saw  me  you  were  disappointed.  I 
knew  it." 

"  No ;  not  disappointed — " 

"Why  not?  My  voice  didn't  go  with  my  looks; 
it  belonged  to  a  tall,  strong-willed  girl." 

"  No,"  he  protested.  "  As  soon  as  I  got  away  it 
was  just  as  it  always  had  been.  I  mean  that  your 
voice  and  your  looks  went  together  again." 


278  THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE. 

"  As  soon  as  you  got  away  ? "  the  girl  questioned. 

"  I  mean —  What  do  you  care  for  it,  anyway  !  " 
he  cried,  in  self-scornful  exasperation. 

"  I  know,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "  that  my  voice 
isn't  like  me ;  I'm  not  good  enough  for  it.  It  ought 
to  be  Juliet  Bingham's — " 

"  No,  no ! "  he  interrupted,  with  a  sort  of  disgust 
that  seemed  not  to  displease  her,  "  I  can't  imagine  it !  " 

"  But  we  can't  any  of  us  have  everything,  and  she's 
got  enough  as  it  is.  She's  a  head  higher  than  I  am, 
and  she  wants  to  have  her  way  ten  times  as  bad." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  Langbourne  began.  "  I — but 
you  must  think  me  enough  of  a  simpleton  already." 

"  Oh,  no,  not  near,"  she  declared.  "  I'm  a  good 
deal  of  a  simpleton  myself  at  times." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  he  said  desperately ;  "  I  love 
you." 

"  Ah,  that  belongs  to  the  time  when  you  thought  I 
looked  differently." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  look  differently.     I — " 

"  You  can't  expect  me  to  believe  that  now.  It  will 
take  time  for  me  to  do  that." 

"  I  will  give  you  time,"  he  said,  so  simply  that  she 
smiled. 

"  If  it  was  my  voice  you  cared  for  I  should  have 


THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE.  279 

to  live  up  to  it,  somehow,  before  you  cared  for  me. 
I'm  not  certain  that  I  ever  could.  And  if  I  couldn't  ? 
You  see,  don't  you  ? " 

"  I  see  that  I  was  a  fool  to  tell  you  what  I  have," 
he  so  far  asserted  himself.  "  But  I  thought  I  ought 
to  be  honest." 

"Oh,  you've  been  honest!"  she  said. 

"  You  have  a  right  to  think  that  I  am  a  flighty, 
romantic  person,"  he  resumed,  "  and  I  don't  blame 
you.  But  if  I  could  explain,  it  has  been  a  very  real 
experience  to  me.  It  was  your  nature  that  I  cared 
for  in  your  voice.  I  can't  tell  you  just  how  it  was ; 
it  seemed  to  me  that  unless  I  could  hear  it  again,  and 
always,  my  life  would  not  be  worth  much.  This  was 
something  deeper  and  better  than  I  could  make  you 
understand.  It  wasn't  merely  a  fancy ;  I  do  not  want 
you  to  believe  that." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  fancies  are  such  very  bad 
things.  I've  had  some  of  my  own,"  Barbara  sug 
gested. 

He  sat  still  with  his  hat  between  his  hands,  as  if 
he  could  not  find  a  chance  of  dismissing  himself,  and 
she  remained  looking  down  at  her  skirt  where  it  tented 
itself  over  the  toe  of  her  shoe.  The  tall  clock  in  the 
hall  ticked  second  after  second.  It  counted  thirty  of 


280  THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

them  at  least  before  he  spoke,  after  a  preliminary 
noise  in  his  throat. 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  should  like  to  ask :  If  you 
had  cared  for  me,  would  you  have  been  offended  at 
my  having  thought  you  looked  differently  ? " 

She  took  time  to  consider  this.  "  I  might  have 
been  vexed,  or  hurt,  I  suppose,  but  I  don't  see  how  I 
could  really  have  been  offended." 

"  Then  I  understand,"  he  began,  in  one  of  his  in 
ductive  emotions;  but  she  rose  nervously,  as  if  she 
could  not  sit  still,  and  went  to  the  piano.  Tne  Span 
ish  song  he  had  given  her  was  lying  open  upon  it,  and 
she  struck  some  of  the  chords  absently,  and  then  let 
her  fingers  rest  on  the  keys. 

"  Miss  Simpson,"  he  said,  coming  stiffly  forward, 
"  I  should  like  to  hear  you  sing  that  song  once  more 
before  I —  Won't  you  sing  it  ? " 

"  Why,  yes,"  she  said,  and  she  slipped  laterally 
into  the  piano-seat. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  stanza  he  gave  a  long  sigh, 
and  then  he  was  silent  to  the  close. 

As  she  sounded  the  last  notes  of  the  accompani 
ment  Juliet  Bingham  burst  into  the  room  with  some 
how  the  effect  to  Langbourne  of  having  lain  in  wait 
outside  for  that  moment. 


THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE.  281 

"  Ob,  I  just  knew  it ! "  she  shouted,  running  upon 
them.  "I  bet  John  anything!  Oh,  I'm  so  happy 
it's  come  out  all  right ;  and  now  I'm  going  to  have  the 
first—" 

She  lifted  her  arms  as  if  to  put  them  round  his 
neck ;  he  stood  dazed,  and  Barbara  rose  from  the 
piano-stool  and  confronted  her  with  nothing  less  than 
horror  in  her  face. 

Juliet  Bingham  was  beginning  again,  "  Why, 
haven't  you — " 

"  No  !  "  cried  Barbara.  "  I  forgot  all  about  what 
you  said  !  I  just  happened  to  sing  it  because  he 
asked  me,"  and  she  ran  from  the  room. 

"  Well,  if  I  ever !  "  said  Juliet  Bingham,  following 
her  with  astonished  eyes.  Then  she  turned  to  Lang- 
bourne.  "  It's  perfectly  ridiculous,  and  I  don't  see 
how  I  can  ever  explain  it.  I  don't  think  Barbara  has 
shown  a  great  deal  of  tact,"  and  Juliet  Bingham  was 
evidently  prepared  to  make  up  the  defect  by  a  diplo 
macy  which  she  enjoyed.  "  I  don't  know  where  to 
begin  exactly ;  but  you  must  certainly  excuse  my — 
manner,  when  I  came  in." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Langbourne  in  polite  mysti 
fication. 

"  It  was  all  through  a  misunderstanding  that  I  don't 


282  THE   MAGIC    OF   A    VOICE. 

think  /  was  to  blame  for,  to  say  the  least ;  but  I  can't 
explain  it  without  making  Barbara  appear  perfectly — 
Mr.  Langbourne,  will  you  tell  whether  you  are  en- 


"  No !  Miss  Simpson  has  declined  my  offer,"  he 
answered. 

"  Oh,  then  it's  all  right,"  said  Juliet  Bingham,  but 
Langbourne  looked  as  if  he  did  not  see  why  she 
should  say  that.  "  Then  I  can  understand ;  I  see  the 
whole  thing  now  ;  and  I  didn't  want  to  make  another 
mistake.  Ah — won't  you — sit  down  ? " 

"  Thank  you.     I  believe  I  will  go." 

"  But  you  have  a  right  to  know — " 

"  Would  my  knowing  alter  the  main  facts  ? "  he 
asked  dryly. 

"  Well,  no,  I  can't  say  it  would,"  Juliet  Bingham 
replied  with  an  air  of  candor.  "And,  as  you  say, 
perhaps  it's  just  as  well,"  she  added  with  an  air  of 
relief. 

Langbourne  had  not  said  it,  but  he  acquiesced  with 
a  faint  sigh,  and  absently  took  the  hand  of  farewell 
which  Juliet  Bingham  gave  him.  "  I  know  Barbara 
will  be  very  sorry  not  to  see  you  ;  but  I  guess  it's  bet 
ter." 

In  spite  of  the  supremacy  which  the  turn  of  affairs 


THE   MAGIC   OF   A   VOICE.  283 

had  given  her,  Juliet  Bingham  looked  far  from  satis 
fied,  and  she  let  Langbourne  go  with  a  sense  of  in- 
conclusiveness  which  showed  in  the  parting  inclina 
tion  towards  him ;  she  kept  the  effect  of  this  after  he 
turned  from  her. 

He  crept  light-headedly  down  the  brick  walk  with 
a  feeling  that  the  darkness  was  not  half  thick  enough, 
though  it  was  so  thick  that  it  hid  from  him  a  figure 
that  leaned  upon  the  gate  and  held  it  shut,  as  if  forci 
bly  to  interrupt  his  going. 

"  Mr.  Langbourne,"  said  the  voice  of  this  figure, 
which,  though  so  unnaturally  strained,  he  knew  for 
Barbara's  voice,  "  you  have  got  to  know  !  I'm  ashamed 
to  tell  you,  but  I  should  be  more  ashamed  not  to, 
after  what's  happened.  Juliet  made  me  promise  when 
she  went  out  to  the  book-club  meeting  that  if  I — if 
you — if  it  turned  out  as  you  wanted,  I  would  sing 
that  song  as  a  sign —  It  was  just  a  joke — like  my 
sending  her  picture.  It  was  my  mistake  and  I  am 
sorry,  and  I  beg  your  pardon — I — " 

She  stopped  with  a  quick  catch  in  her  breath,  and 
the  darkness  round  them  seemed  to  become  luminous 
with  the  light  of  hope  that  broke  upon  him  within. 

"  But  if  there  really  was  no  mistake,"  he  began. 
He  could  not  get  further- 


284  THE    MAGIC    OF    A    VOICE. 

She  did  not  answer,  and  for  the  first  time  her  silence 
was  sweeter  than  her  voice.  He  lifted  her  tip-toe  in 
his  embrace,  but  he  did  not  wish  her  taller ;  her  yield 
ing  spirit  lost  itself  in  his  own,  and  he  did  not  regret 
the  absence  of  the  strong  will  which  he  had  once  im 
agined  hers. 


A  CIEOLE  IN  THE  WATER. 


I. 

sunset  struck  its  hard  red  light  through  the 
fringe  of  leafless  trees  to  the  westward,  and  gave  their 
outlines  that  black  definition  which  a  French  school  of 
landscape  saw  a  few  years  ago,  and  now  seems  to  see 
no  longer.  In  the  whole  scene  there  was  the  pathetic 
repose  which  we  feel  in  some  dying  day  of  the  dying 
year,  and  a  sort  of  impersonal  melancholy  weighed 
me  down  as  I  dragged  myself  through  the  woods  tow 
ard  that  dreary  November  sunset.  ] 

Presently  I  came  in  sight  of  the  place  I  was  seek 
ing,  and  partly  because  of  the  insensate  pleasure  of 
having  found  it,  and  partly  because  of  the  cheerful 
opening  in  the  boscage  made  by  the  pool,  which 
cleared  its  space  to  the  sky,  my  heart  lifted.  I  per 
ceived  that  it  was  not  so  late  as  I  had  thought,  and 
that  there  was  much  more  of  the  day  left  than  I  had 
supposed  from  the  crimson  glare  in  the  west.  I  threw 
myself  down  on  one  of  the  grassy  gradines  of  the 


286  A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER. 

amphitheatre,  and  comforted  myself  with  the  antiquity 
of  the  work,which  was  so  great  as  to  involve  its  origin 
in  a  somewhat  impassioned  question  among  the  local 
authorities.  I  Whether  it  was  a  Norse  work,  a  temple 
for  the  celebration  of  the  earliest  Christian,  or  the 
latest  heathen,  rites  among  the  first  discoverers  of 
New  England,  or  whether  it  was  a  cockpit  where  the 
English  officers  who  were  billeted  in  the  old  tavern 
near  by  fought  their  mains  at  the  time  of  our  Revo 
lution,  it  had  the  charm  of  a  ruin,  and  appealed  to  the 
fancy  with  whatever  potency  belongs  to  the  moulder 
ing  monuments  of  the  past.;  The  hands  that  shaped 
it  were  all  dust,  and  there^was  no  record  of  the  minds 
that  willed  it  to  prove  that  it  was  a  hundred,  or  that 
it  was  a  thousand,  years  old.  There  were  young  oaks 
and  pines  growing  up  to  the  border  of  the  amphithea 
tre  on  all  sides;  blackberry  vines  and  sumach  bushes 
overran  the  gradines  almost  to  the  margin  of  the  pool 
which  filled  the  centre ;  at  the  edge  of  the  water  some 
clumps  of  willow  and  white  birch  leaned  outward  as 
if  to  mirror  their  tracery  in  its  steely  surface.  But  of 
the  life  that  the  thing  inarticulately  recorded,  there 
was  not  the  slightest  impulse  left. 

I  began  to  think  how  everything  ends  at  last.    Love 
ends,  sorrow  ends,  and  to  our  mortal  sense  everything 


A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER.  287 

that  is  mortal  ends,  whether  that  which  is  spiritual 
has  a  perpetual  effect  beyond  these  eyes  or  not.  The 
very  name  of  things  passes  with  the  things  them 
selves,  and 

41  Glory  is  like  a  circle  in  the  water, 
Which  never  ceaseth  to  enlarge  itself, 
Till  by  broad  spreading,  it  disperse  to  naught." 

But  if  fame  ended,  did  not  infamy  end,  too  ?  If 
glory,  why  not  shame  ?  What  was  it,  I  mused,  that 
made  an  evil  deed  so  much  more  memorable  than  a 
good  one  ?  Why  should  a  crime  have  so  much  longer 
lodgment  in  our  minds,  and  be  of  consequences  so 
much  more  lasting  than  the  sort  of  action  which  is 
the  opposite  of  a  crime,  but  has  no  precise  name  with 
us  ?  Was  it  because  the  want  of  positive  quality  which 
left  it  nameless,  characterized  its  effects  with  a  kind 
of  essential  debility  1  Was  evil  then  a  greater  force 
than  good  in  the  moral  world  ?  I  tried  to  recall  per 
sonalities,  virtuous  and  vicious,  and  I  found  a  fatal 
want  of  distinctness  in  the  return  of  those  I  classed  as 
virtuous,  and  a  lurid  vividness  in  those  I  classed  as 
vicious.  ^Images,  knowledges,  concepts,  zigzagged 
through  my  brain,  as  they  do  when  we  are  thinking, 
or  believe  we  are  thinking ;  perhaps  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  we  call  thinking,  except  when  we  are  talking. 


288  A   CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

I  did  not  hold  myself  responsible  in  this  will-less  rev- 
ery  for  the  question  which  asked  itself,  Whether, 
then,  evil  and  not  good  was  the  lasting  principle,  and 
whether  that  which  should  remain  recognizable  to  all 

eternity  was  not  the  good  effect  but  the  evil  effect  J ] 

Something  broke  the  perfect  stillness  of  the  pool  near 
the  opposite  shore.  A  fish  had  leaped  at  some  unsea 
sonable  insect  on  the  surface,  or  one  of  the  overhanging 
trees  had  dropped  a  dead  twig  upon  it,  and  in  the  lazy 
doubt  which  it  might  be,  I  lay  and  watched  the  ever- 
widening  circle  fade  out  into  fainter  and  fainter  ripples 
toward  the  shore,  till  it  weakened  to  nothing  in  the 
eye,  and,  so  far  as  the  senses  were  concerned,  actually 
ceased  to  be.  The  want  of  visible  agency  in  it  made 
me  feel  it  all  the  more  a  providential  illustration ;  and 
because  the  thing  itself  was  so  pretty,  and  because  it 
was  so  apt  as  a  case  in  point,  I  pleased  myself  a  great 
deal  with  it.  Suddenly  it  repeated  itself;  but  this 
time  I  grew  a  little  impatient  of  it,  before  the  circle 
died  out  in  the  wider  circle  of  the  pool.  I  said  whim 
sically  to  myself  that  this  was  rubbing  it  in ;  that  I 
was  convinced  already,  and  needed  no  further  proof ; 
and  at  the  same  moment  the  thing  happened  a  third 
time.  Then  I  saw  that  there  was  a  man  standing  at 
the  top  of  the  amphitheatre  just  across  from  me,  who 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  289 

was  throwing  stones  into  the  water.  He  cast  a  fourth 
pebble  into  the  centre  of  the  pool,  and  then  a  fifth 
and  a  sixth  jjlbegan  to  wonder  what  he  was  throwing 
at;  I  thought  it  too  childish  for  him  to  be  amusing 
himself  with  the  circle  that  dispersed  itself  to  naught, 
after  it  had  done  so  several  times  already.  I  was  sure 
that  he  saw  something  in  the  pool,  and  was  trying  to 
hit  it,  or  frighten  it.  His  figure  showed  black  against 
the  sunset  light,  and  I  could  not  make  it  out  very 
well,  but  it  held  itself  something  like  that  of  a  work 
man,  and  yet  with  a  difference,  with  an  effect  as  of 
some  sort  of  discipline ;  and  I  thought  of  an  ex-recruit, 
returning  to  civil  life,  after  serving  his  five  years  in 
the  army!  though  I  do  not  know  why  I  should  have 
gone  so  far  afield  for  this  notion ;  I  certainly  had  never 
seen  an  ex-recruit,  and  I  did  not  really  know  how  one 
would  look.  I  rose  up,  and  we  both  stood  still,  as  if 
he  were  abashed  in  his  sport  by  my  presence.  The  man 
made  a  little  cast  forward  with  his  hand,  and  I  heard 
the  rattle  as  of  pebbles  dropped  among  the  dead  leaves. 
Then  he  called  over  to  me,  "  Is  that  you,  Mr. 
March?" 

"  Yes,"  I  called  back,  "  what  is  wanted  ? " 

"  Oh,  nothing.     I  was  just  looking  for  you."     He 

did  not  move,  and  after  a  moment  I  began  to  walk 
T 


290  A   CIRCLE    IN   THE   WATER, 

round  the  top  of  the  amphitheatre  toward  him.  When 
I  came  near  him  I  saw  that  he  had  a  clean-shaven 
face,  and  he  wore  a  soft  hat  that  seemed  large  for  his 
close-cropped  head ;  he  had  on  a  sack  coat  buttoned 
to  the  throat,  and  of  one  dark  color  with  his  loose 
trousers.  I  knew  him  now,  but  I  did  not  know  what 
terms  to  put  my  recognition  in,  and  I  faltered. 
"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ? "  I  asked,  as  if  I  did 
not  know  him. 

"  I  was  at  your  house,"  he  answered,  "  and  they 
told  me  that  you  had  walked  out  this  way."  He  hes 
itated  a  moment,  and  then  he  added,  rather  huskily, 
"  You  don't  know  me  !  " 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "It  is  Tedham,"  and  I  held  out 
my  hand,  with  no  definite  intention,  I  believe,  but 
merely  because  I  did  know  him,  and  this  was  the  usu 
al  form  of  greeting  between  acquaintances  after  a  long 
separation,  or  even  a  short  one,  for  that  matter.  But 
he  seemed  to  find  a  special  significance  in  my  civility, 
and  he  took  my  hand  and  held  it  silently,  while  he 
was  trying  to  speak.  Evidently,  he  could  not,  and  I 
said  aimlessly,  "  What  were  you  throwing  at  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  I  saw  you  lying  down,  over  there,  and 
I  wanted  to  attract  your  attention."  He  let  my  hand 
go,  and  looked  at  me  apologetically. 


A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER.  291 

"  Oh !  was  that  all  ? "  I  said.  "  I  thought  you  saw 
something  in  the  water." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  as  if  he  felt  the  censure  which 
I  had  not  been  able  to  keep  out  of  my  voice. 


I  DO  not  know  why  I  should  have  chosen  to  take 
this  simple  fact  as  proof  of  an  abiding  want  of 
straight-forwardness  in  Tedham's  nature.  I  do  not 
know  why  I  should  have  expected  him  to  change,  or 
why  I  should  have  felt  authorized  at  that  moment  to 
renew  his  punishment  for  it.  I  certainly  had  said  and 
thought  very  often  that  he  had  been  punished  enough, 
and  more  than  enough.  In  fact,  his  punishment,  like 
all  the  other  punishments  that  I  have  witnessed  in  life, 
seemed  to  me  wholly  out  of  proportion  to  the  offence ; 
it  seemed  monstrous,  atrocious,  and  when  I  got  to 
talking  of  it  I  used  to  become  so  warm  that  my  wife 
would  warn  me  people  would  think  I  wanted  to  do 
something  like  Tedham  myself  if  I  went  on  in  that 
way  about  him.  Yet  here  I  was,  at  my  very  first  en 
counter  with  the  man,  after  his  long  expiation  had 
ended,  willing  to  add  at  least  a  little  self-reproach  to 
his  suffering.  I  suppose,  as  nearly  as  I  can  analyze 


A    CIRCLE    IN   THE    WATER.  293 

my  mood,  I  must  have  been  expecting,  in  spite  of  all 
reason  and  experience,  that  his  anguish  would  have 
wrung  that  foible  out  of  him,  and  left  him  strong 
where  it  had  found  him  weak.  Tragedy  befalls  the 
light  and  foolish  as  well  as  the  wise  and  weighty  nat 
ures,  but  it  does  not  render  them  wise  and  weighty ;  I 
had  often  made  this  sage  reflection,  but  I  failed  to 
apply  it  to  the  case  before  me  now. 

1  After  waiting  a  little  for  the  displeasure  to  clear 
away  from  my  face,  Tedham  smiled  as  if  in  humorous 
appreciation,  and  I  perceived,  as  nothing  else  could 
have  shown  me  so  well,  that  he  was  still  the  old  Ted- 
ham.  There  was  an  offer  of  propitiation  in  this  smile, 
too,  and  I  did  not  like  that,  either ;  but  I  was  touched 
when  I  saw  a  certain  hope  die  out  of  his  eye  at  the 
failure  of  his  appeal  to  me.  j 

"  Who  told  you  I  was  here  ?  "  I  asked,  more  kindly. 
"  Did  you  see  Mrs.  March  ? " 

"  No,  I  think  it  must  have  been  your  children.  I 
found  them  in  front  of  your  house,  and  I  asked  them 
for  you,  without  going  to  the  door." 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  and  I  hid  the  disappointment  I  felt 
that  he  had  not  seen  my  wife ;  for  I  should  have  liked 
such  a  leading  as  her  behavior  toward  him  would  have 
given  me  for  my  own.  I  was  sure  she  would  have 


, 


-=»   +, 


294  A    CIRCLE    IN   THE   WATER. 

known  him  at  once,  and  would  not  have  told  him 
where  to  find  me,  if  she  had  not  wished  me  to  be 
friendly  with  him. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  I  said,  in  the  absence  of 
this  leading ;  and  then  I  did  not  know  what  else  to 
say.  Tedham  seemed  to  me  to  be  looking  very  well, 
but  I  could  not  notify  this  fact  to  him,  in  the  circum 
stances  ;  he  even  looked  very  handsome ;  he  had  aged 
becomingly,  and  a  clean-shaven  face  suited  him  as 
well  as  the  full  beard  he  used  to  wear;  but  I  could 
speak  of  these  things  as  little  as  of  his  apparent  health. 
I  did  not  feel  that  I  ought  even  to  ask  him  what  I 
could  do  for  him.  I  did  not  want  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  him,  and,  besides,  I  have  always  regarded  this 
formula  as  tantamount  to  saying  that  you  cannot,  or 
will  not,  do  anything  for  the  man  you  employ  it  upon. 

The  silence  which  ensued  was  awkward,  but  it  was 
better  than  anything  I  could  think  of  to  say,  and  Ted- 
ham  himself  seemed  to  feel  it  so.  He  said,  presently, 
"  Thank  you.  I  was  sure  you  would  not  take  my 
coming  to  you  the  wrong  way.  In  fact  I  had  no  one 

else  to  come  to — after  I Tedham  stopped,  and 

then,  "  I  don't  know,"  he  went  on,  "  whether  you've 
kept  run  of  me ;  I  don't  suppose  you  have ;  I  got  out 
to-day  at  noon." 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  295 

I  could  not  say  anything  to  that,  either ;  there  were 
very  few  openings  for  me,  it  appeared,  in  the  conver 
sation,  which  remained  one-sided  as  before. 

"  I  went  to  the  cemetery,"  he  continued.  "  I  wanted 
to  realize  that  those  who  had  died  were  dead,  it  was 
all  one  thing  as  long  as  I  was  in  there ;  everybody  was 
dead ;  and  then  I  came  on  to  your  house." 

The  house  he  meant  was  a  place  I  had  taken  for  the 
summer  a  little  out  of  town,  so  that  I  could  run  in  to 
business  every  day,  and  yet  have  my  mornings  and 
evenings  in  the  country;  the  fall  had  been  so  mild 
that  we  were  still  eking  out  the  summer  there. 

"How  did  you  know  where  I  was  staying?"  I 
asked,  with  a  willingness  to  make  any  occasion  serve 
for  saying  something. 

Tedham  hesitated.  "  Well,  I  stopped  at  the  office 
in  Boston  on  my  way  out,  and  inquired.  1  was  sure 
nobody  would  know  me  there."  He  said  this  apolo 
getically,  as  if  he  had  been  taking  a  liberty,  and  ex 
plained  :  "I  wanted  to  see  you  very  much,  and  I  was 
afraid  that  if  I  let  the  day  go  by  I  should  miss  you 
somehow." 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  I  said. 

We  had  remained  standing  at  the  point  where  I  had 
gone  round  to  meet  him,  and  it  seemed,  in  the  awk- 


296  A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

ward  silence  that  now  followed,  as  if  I  were  rooted 
there.  I  would  very  willingly  have  said  something 
leading,  for  my  own  sake,  if  not  for  his,  but  I  had 
nothing  in  mind  but  that  I  had  better  keep  there,  and 
so  I  waited  for  him  to  speak.  I  believed  he  was 
beating  about  the  bush  in  his  own  thoughts,  to  find 
some  indirect  or  sinuous  way  of  getting  at  what  he 
wanted  to  know,  and  that  it  was  only  because  he 
failed  that  he  asked  bluntly,  "  March,  do  you  know 
where  my  daughter  is  ? " 

"  No,  Tedham,  I  don't,"  I  said,  and  I  was  glad 
that  I  could  say  it  both  with  honesty  and  with  com 
passion.  I  was  truly  sorry  for  the  man ;  in  a  way,  I 
did  pity  him ;  at  the  same  time  I  did  not  wish  to  be 
mixed  up  in  his  affairs ;  in  washing  my  hands  of  them, 
I  preferred  that  there  should  be  no  stain  of  falsehood 
left  on  them. 

"  Where  is  my  sister-in-law  ? "  he  asked  next,  and 
now  at  least  I  could  not  censure  him  for  indirection. 

"  I  haven't  met  her  for  several  years,"  I  answered. 
"  I  couldn't  say  from  my  own  knowledge  where  she 
was." 

"  But  you  haven't  heard  of  her  leaving  Somerville  ? " 

"  No,  I  haven't." 

"  Do  you  ever  meet  her  husband  ?  " 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  297 

"Yes,  sometimes,  on  the  street;  but  I  think  not 
lately ;  we  don't  often  meet." 

"  The  last  time  you  saw  her,  did  she  speak  of  me  ? " 

"I  don't  know — I  believe — yes.  It  was  a  good 
many  years  ago.'* 

"  Was  she  changed  toward  me  at  all  ? " 

This  was  a  hard  question  to  answer,  but  I  thought  I 
had  better  answer  it  with  the  exact  truth.  "  No,  she 
seemed  to  feel  just  the  same  as  ever  about  it." 

I  do  not  believe  Tedham  cared  for  this,  after  all, 
though  he  made  a  show  of  having  to  collect  himself 
before  he  went  on.  "  Then  you  think  my  daughter  is 
with  her?" 

"  I  didn't  say  that.  I  don't  know  anything  about 
it." 

"  March,"  he  urged,  "  don't  you  think  I  have  a 
right  to  see  my  daughter  ? " 

"  That's  something  I  can't  enter  into,  Tedham." 

"  Good  God  !  "  said  the  man.  "  If  you  were  in  my 
place,  wouldn't  you  want  to  see  her  ?  You  know  how 
fond  I  used  to  be  of  her ;  and  she  is  all  that  I  have 
got  left  in  the  world." 

I  did  indeed  remember  Tedham's  affection  for  his 
daughter,  whom  I  remembered  as  in  short  frocks  when 
I  last  saw  them  together.  It  was  before  my  own  door 


298  A    CIRCLE   IN    THE    WATER. 

in  town.  Tedham  had  driven  up  in  a  smart  buggy 
behind  a  slim  sorrel,  and  I  came  out,  at  a  sign  he 
made  me  through  the  bow-window  with  his  whip,  and 
saw  the  little  maid  on  the  seat  there  beside  him. 
They  were  both  very  well  dressed,  though  still  in 
mourning  for  the  child's  mother,  and  the  whole  turn 
out  was  handsomely  set  up.  Tedham  was  then  about 
thirty-five,  and  the  child  looked  about  nine.  The  col 
or  of  her  hair  was  the  color  of  his  fine  brown  beard, 
which  had  as  yet  no  trace  of  gray  in  it ;  but  the  light 
in  her  eyes  was  another  light,  and  her  smile,  which 
was  of  the  same  shape  as  his,  was  of  another  quality, 
as  she  leaned  across  him  and  gave  me  her  pretty  little 
gloved  hand  with  a  gay  laugh.  "  I  should  think  you 
would  be  afraid  of  such  a  fiery  sorrel  dragon  as  that," 
I  said,  in  recognition  of  the  colt's  lifting  and  twitching 
with  impatience  as  we  talked. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  with  papa  !  "  she  said,  and  she 
laughed  again  as  he  took  her  hand  in  one  of  his  and 
covered  it  oat  of  sight. 

I  recalled,  now,  looking  at  him  there  in  the  twilight 
of  the  woods,  how  happy  they  had  both  seemed  that 
sunny  afternoon  in  the  city  square,  as  they  flashed 
away  from  my  door  and  glanced  back  at  me  and 
smiled  together.  I  went  into  the  house  and  said  to 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  299 

my  wife  with  a  formulation  of  the  case  which  pleased 
me,  "  If  there  is  anything  in  the  world  that  Tedham 
likes  better  than  to  ride  after  a  good  horse,  it  is  to 
ride  after  a  good  horse  with  that  little  girl  of  his." 
"  Yes,"  said  my  wife,  "  but  a  good  horse  means  a 
good  deal  of  money ;  even  when  a  little  girl  goes  with 
it."  "  That  is  so,"  I  assented,  "  but  Tedham  has  made 
a  lot  lately  in  real  estate,  they  say,  and  I  don't  know 
what  better  he  could  do  with  his  money  ;  or,  I  don't 
believe  he  does."  We  said  no  more,  but  we  both  felt, 
with  the  ardor  of  young  parents,  that  it  was  a  great 
virtue,  a  saving  virtue,  in  Tedham  to  love  his  little 
girl  so  much ;  I  was  afterward  not  always  sure  that  it 
was.  Still,  when  Tedham  appealed  to  me  now  in  the 
name  of  his  love  for  her,  he  moved  my  heart,  if  not 
my  reason,  in  his  favor ;  those  old  superstitions  per 
sist. 

"  Why,  of  course,  you  want  to  see  her.  But  I 
couldn't  tell  you  where  she  is." 

"  You  could  find  out  for  me." 

"  I  don't  see  how,"  I  said ;  but  I  did  see  how,  and 
I  knew  as  well  as  he  what  his  next  approach  would 
be.  I  felt  strong  against  it,  however,  and  I  did  not 
perceive  the  necessity  of  being  short  with  him  in  a 
matter  not  involving  my  own  security  or  comfort. 


300  A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

"  I  could  find  out  where  Hasketh  is,"  he  said,  nam 
ing  the  husband  of  his  sister-in-law ;  "  but  it  would  be 
of  no  use  for  me  to  go  there.  They  wouldn't  see  me." 
He  put  this  like  a  question,  but  I  chose  to  let  it  be 
its  own  answer,  and  he  went  on.  "  There  is  no  one  that 
I  can  ask  to  act  for  me  in  the  matter  but  you,  and  I 
ask  you,  March,  to  go  to  my  sister-in-law  for  me." 
I  shook  my  head.  "  That  I  can't  do,  Tedham." 
"Ah  !  "  he  urged,  "  what  harm  could  it  do  you  ? '' 
"  Look  here,  Tedham  !  "  I  said.  "  I  don't  know 
why  you  feel  authorized  to  come  to  me  at  all.  It  is 
useless  your  saying  that  there  is  no  one  else.  You 
know  very  well  that  the  authorities,  some  of  them — 
the  chaplain — would  go  and  see  Mrs.  Hasketh  for  you. 
He  could  have  a  great  deal  more  influence  with  her 
than  any  one  else  could,  if  he  felt  like  saying  a  good 
word  for  you.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you  have 
expiated  your  offence  fully ;  but  I  should  think  you 
yourself  would  see  that  you  ought  not  to  come  to  me 
with  this  request ;  or  you  ought  to  come  to  me  last  of 
all  men." 

"It  is  just  because  of  that  part  of  my  offence  which 
concerned  you  that  I  come  to  you.  I  knew  how  gen 
erous  you  were,  and  after  you  told  me  that  you  had 
no  resentment —  I  acknowledge  that  it  is  indelicate, 


A   CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  301 

if  you  choose  to  look  at  it  in  that  light,  but  a  man 
like  me  can't  afford  to  let  delicacy  stand  in  his  way. 
I  don't  want  to  flatter  you,  or  get  you  to  do  this  thing 
for  me  on  false  pretences.  But  I  thought  that  if  you 
went  to  Mrs.  Hasketh  for  me,  she  would  remember 
that  you  had  overlooked  something,  and  she  would  be 
more  disposed  to — to — be  considerate." 

"  I  can't  do  it,  Tedham,"  I  returned.  "  It  would 
be  of  no  use.  Besides,  I  don't  like  the  errand.  I'm 
not  sure  that  I  have  any  business  to  interfere.  I  am 
not  sure  that  you  have  any  right  to  disturb  the  shape 
that  their  lives  have  settled  into.  I'm  sorry  for  you, 
I  pity  you  with  all  my  heart.  But  there  are  others  to 
be  considered  as  well  as  you.  And — simply,  I  can't." 

"How  do  you  know,"  he  entreated,  "that  my 
daughter  wouldn't  be  as  glad  to  see  me  as  I  to  see 
her?" 

"  I  don't  know  it.  I  don't  know  anything  about  it. 
That's  the  reason  I  can't  have  anything  to  do  with  it. 
I  can't  justify  myself  in  meddling  with  what  doesn't 
concern  me,  and  in  what  I'm  not  sure  but  I  should  do 
more  harm  than  good.  I  must  say  good-night.  It's 
getting  late,  and  they  will  be  anxious  about  me  at 
home."  My  heart  smote  me  as  I  spoke  the  last  word, 
which  seemed  a  cruel  recognition  of  Tedham's  home- 


302  A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

lessness.  But  I  held  out  my  hand  to  him  for  parting, 
and  braced  myself  against  my  inward  weakness. 

He  might  well  have  failed  to  see  my  hand.  At  any 
rate  he  did  not  take  it.  He  turned  and  started  to 
walk  out  of  the  woods  by  my  side.  We  came  pres 
ently  to  some  open  fields.  Beyond  them  was  the  road, 
and  after  we  had  climbed  the  first  wall,  and  found 
ourselves  in  a  somewhat  lighter  place,  he  began  to 
speak  again. 

"I  thought,"  he  said,  "that  if  you  had  forgiven 
me,  I  could  take  it  as  a  sign  that  I  had  suffered 
enough  to  satisfy  everybody." 

"  We  needn't  dwell  upon  my  share  in  the  matter, 
Tedham,"  I  answered,  as  kindly  as  I  could.  "  That 
was  entirely  my  own  affair." 

"  You  can't  think,"  he  pursued,  "  how  much  your 
letter  was  to  me.  It  came  when  I  was  in  perfect  de 
spair — in  those  awful  first  days  when  it  seemed  as  if 
I  could  not  bear  it,  and  yet  death  itself  would  be  no 
relief.  Oh,  they  don't  know  how  much  we  suffer  !  If 
they  did,  they  would  forgive  us  anything,  everything ! 
Your  letter  was  the  first  gleam  of  hope  I  had.  I  don't 
know  how  you  came  to  write  it !  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  Tedham,  I  felt  sorry  for  you — " 

"  Oh,  did  you,  did  you  ? "    He  began  to  cry,  and  as 


A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER.  303 

we  hurried  along  over  the  fields,  he  sobbed  with  the 
wrenching,  rending  sobs  of  a  man.  "  I  knew  you  did, 
and  I  believe  it  was  God  himself  that  put  it  into  your 
heart  to  write  me  that  letter  and  take  off  that  much  of 
the  blame  from  me.  I  said  to  myself  that  if  I  ever 
lived  through  it,  I  would  try  to  tell  you  how  much  you 
had  done  for  me.  I  don't  blame  you  for  refusing  to 
do  what  I've  asked  you  now.  I  can  see  how  you  may 
think  it  isn't  best,  and  I  thank  you  all  the  same  for 
that  letter.  I've  got  it  here."  He  took  a  letter  out 
of  his  breast-pocket,  and  showed  it  to  me.  "  It  isn't 
the  first  time  I've  cried  over  it." 

I  did  not  say  anything,  for  my  heart  was  in  my 
throat,  and  we  stumbled  along  in  silence  till  we  climbed 
the  last  wall,  and  stood  on  the  sidewalk  that  skirted 
the  suburban  highway.  There,  under  the  street-lamp, 
we  stopped  a  moment,  and  it  was  he  who  now  offered 
me  his  hand  for  parting.  I  took  it,  and  we  said,  to 
gether,  "Well,  good-by,"  and  moved  in  different 
directions.  I  knew  very  well  that  I  should  turn  back, 
and  I  had  not  gone  a  hundred  feet  away  when  I  faced 
about.  He  was  shambling  off  into  the  dusk,  a  most 
hapless  figure.  "  Tedham  ! "  I  called  after  him. 

"  Well  ? "  he  answered,  and  he  halted  instantly ;  he 
had  evidently  known  what  I  would  do  as  well  as  I  had, 


304  A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER. 

We  reapproached  each  other,  and  when  we  were 
again  under  the  lamp  I  asked,  a  little  awkwardly, 
"  Are  you  in  need  of  money,  Tedham  ? " 

"  I've  got  my  ten  years'  wages  with  me,"  he  said, 
with  a  lightness  that  must  have  come  from  his  reviving 
hope  in  me.  He  drew  his  hand  out  of  his  pocket,  and 
showed  me  the  few  dollars  with  which  the  State  in 
humanly  turns  society's  outcasts  back  into  the  world 
again. 

"Oh,  that  won't  do."  I  said.  "You  must  let  me 
lend  you  something." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  with  perfect  simplicity. 
"  But  you  know  I  can't  tell  when  I  shall  be  able  to 
pay  you." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right."  I  gave  him  a  ten-dollar 
note  which  I  had  loose  in  my  pocket ;  it  was  one  that 
my  wife  had  told  me  to  get  changed  at  the  grocery 
near  the  station,  and  I  had  walked  off  to  the  old  tem 
ple,  or  the  old  cockpit,  and  forgotten  about  it. 

Tedham  took  the  note,  but  he  said,  holding  it  in  his 
hand,  "  I  would  a  million  times  rather  you  would  let 
me  go  home  with  you  and  see  Mrs.  March  a  moment." 

"  I  can't  do  that,  Tedham,"  I  answered,  not  unkind 
ly,  I  hope.  "  I  know  what  you  mean,  and  I  assure 
you  that  it  would'nt  be  the  least  use.  It's  because  I 


A   CIRCLE   IN    THE    WATER.  305 

feel  so  sure  that  my  wife  wouldn't  like  my  going  to 
see  Mrs.  Hasketh,  that  I—" 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,"  said  Tedham.  "That  is  the 
reason  why  I  should  like  to  sec  Mrs.  March.  I  believe 
that  if  I  could  see  her,  I  could  convince  her." 

"  She  wouldn't  see  you,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  I, 
strangely  finding  myself  on  these  caressing  terms  with 
him.  "  She  entirely  approved  of  what  I  did,  the  let 
ter  I  wrote  you,  but  I  don't  believe  she  will  ever  feel 
just  as  I  do  about  it.  Women  are  different,  you 
know." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  drawing  a  long,  quivering  breat  . 

We  stood  there,  helpless  to  part.  He  did  not  offer 
to  leave  me,  and  I  could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
abandon  him.  After  a  most  painful  time,  he  drew 
another  long  breath,  and  asked,  "  Would  you  be  will 
ing  to  let  me  take  the  chances  ? " 

"  Why,  Tedham,"  I  began,  weakly ;  and  upon  that 
he  began  walking  with  me  again. 

u 


m. 


I  WENT  to  my  wife's  room,  after  I  reached  the 
house,  and  faced  her  with  considerable  trepidation.  I 
had  to  begin  rather  far  off,  but  I  certainly  began  in  a 
way  to  lead  up  to  the  fact.  "  Isabel,"  I  said,  "  Ted- 
ham  is  out  at  last."  I  had  it  on  my  tongue  to  say 
poor  Tedham,  but  I  suppressed  the  qualification  in 
actual  speech  as  likely  to  prove  unavailing,  or  worse. 

"  Is  that  what  kept  you  ! "  she  demanded,  instantly. 
"  Have  you  seen  him  1 " 

"  Yes,"  I  admitted.  I  added,  "  Though  I  am  afraid 
I  was  rather  late,  anyway." 

"  I  knew  it  was  he,  the  moment  you  spoke,"  she 
said,  rising  on  the  lounge  where  she  had  been  lying, 
and  sitting  up  on  it ;  with  the  book  she  had  been  read 
ing  shut  on  her  thumb,  she  faced  me  across  the  table 
where  her  lamp  stood.  "  I  had  a  presentiment  when 
the  children  said  there  was  some  strange-looking  man 
here,  asking  for  you,  and  that  they  had  told  him 


A   CIRCLE   IK   THE   WATER.  307 

where  to  find  you.  I  couldn't  help  feeling  a  little  un 
easy  about  it.  What  did  he  want  with  you,  Basil  ? " 

"  Well,  he  wanted  to  know  where  his  daughter  was." 

"You  didn't  tell  him!" 

"  I  didn't  know.  Then  he  wanted  me  to  go  to  Mrs. 
Hasketh  and  find  out." 

"  You  didn't  say  you  would  ?  " 

"  I  said  most  decidedly  I  wouldn't,"  I  returned,  and 
I  recalled  my  severity  to  Tedham  in  refusing  his  pray 
er  with  more  satisfaction  than  it  had  given  me  at  the 
time.  "  I  told  him  that  I  had  no  business  to  interfere, 
and  that  I  was  not  sure  it  would  be  right  even  for  me 
to  meddle  with  the  course  things  had  taken."  I  was 
aware  of  weakening  my  case  as  I  went  on ;  I  had  bet 
ter  left  her  with  a  dramatic  conception  of  a  downright 
and  relentless  refusal. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  felt  called  upon  to  make  ex 
cuses  to  him,  Basil.  His  impudence  in  coming  to 
you,  of  all  men,  is  perfectly  intolerable.  I  suppose  it 
was  that  sentimental  letter  you  wrote  him." 

"  You  didn't  think  it  sentimental  at  the  time,  my 
dear.  You  approved  of  it." 

I  didn't  approve  of  it,  Basil ;  but  if  you  felt  so 
strongly  that  you  ought  to  do  it,  I  felt  that  I  ought  to 
let  vou.  I  have  never  interfered  with  your  sense  of 


308  A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER. 

duty,  and  I  never  will.  But  I  am  glad  that  you  didn't 
feel  it  your  duty  to  that  wretch  to  go  and  make  more 
trouble  on  his  account.  He  has  made  quite  enough 
already ;  and  it  wasn't  his  fault  that  you  were  not  tried 
and  convicted  in  his  place." 

"  There  wasn't  the  slightest  danger  of  that — " 

"  He  tried  to  put  the  suspicion  on  you,  and  to  bring 
the  disgrace  on  your  wife  and  children." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  we  agreed  to  forget  all  that  long 
ago.  And  I  don't  think — I  never  thought — that  Ted- 
ham  would  have  let  the  suspicion  rest  on  me.  He 
merely  wanted  to  give  it  that  turn,  when  the  investi 
gation  began,  so  as  to  gain  time  to  get  out  to  Canada." 

My  wife  looked  at  me  with  a  glance  in  which  I  saw 
tender  affection  dangerously  near  contempt.  "  You 
are  a  very  forgiving  man,  Basil,"  she  said,  and  I 
looked  down  sheepishly.  "  Well,  at  any  rate,  you 
have  had  the  sense  not  to  mix  yourself  up  in  his  bus 
iness.  Did  he  pretend  that  he  came  straight  to  you, 
as  soon  as  he  got  out  ?  I  suppose  he  wanted  you  to 
believe  that  he  appealed  to  you  before  he  tried  any 
body  else." 

"  Yes,  he  stopped  at  the  Reciprocity  office  to  ask 
for  my  address,  and  after  he  had  visited  the  cemetery 
he  came  on  out  here.  And,  if  you  must  know,  I 


A   CIRCLE   IN   THE    WATER.  309 

think  Tedham  is  still  the  old  Tedham.  Put  him  be 
hind  a  good  horse,  with  a  pocketful  of  some  one  else's 
money,  in  a  handsome  suit  of  clothes,  and  a  game- 
and-fish  dinner  at  Tafft's  in  immediate  prospect,  and 
you  couldn't  see  any  difference  between  the  Tedham 
of  to-day  and  the  Tedham  of  ten  years  ago,  except  that 
the  actual  Tedham  is  clean-shaved  and  wears  his  hair 
cut  rather  close." 

"Basil!" 

"  Why  do  you  object  to  the  fact  ?  Did  you  ima 
gine  he  had  changed  inwardly  ? " 

"  He  must  have  suffered." 

"But  does  suffering  change  people?  I  doubt  it. 
Certain  material  accessories  of  Tedham's  have  changed. 
But  why  should  that  change  Tedham  ?  Of  course,  he 
has  suffered,  and  he  suffers  still.  He  threw  out  some 
hints  of  what  he  had  been  through  that  would  have 
broken  my  heart  if  I  hadn't  hardened  it  against  him. 
And  he  loves  his  daughter  still,  and  he  wants  to  see 
her,  poor  wretch." 

"  I  suppose  he  does  ! "  sighed  my  wife. 

"  He  would  hardly  take  no  for  an  answer  from  me, 
when  I  said  I  wouldn't  go  to  the  Haskeths  for  him ; 
and  when  I  fairly  shook  him  off,  he  wanted  me  to  ask 
you  to  go." 


310  A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

"And  what  did  you  say?"  she  asked,  not  at  all 
with  the  resentment  I  had  counted  upon  equally  with 
the  possible  pathos ;  you  never  can  tell  in  ths  least  how 
any  woman  will  take  anything,  which  is  perhaps  the 
reason  why  men  do  not  trust  women  more. 

"  I  told  him  that  it  would  not  be  the  smallest  use  to 
ask  you ;  that  you  had  forgiven  that  old  affair  as  well 
as  I  had,  but  that  women  were  different,  and  that  I 
knew  you  wouldn't  even  see  him." 

"  Well,  Basil,  I  don't  know  what  right  you  had  to 
put  me  in  that  odious  light,"  said  my  wife. 

"  Why,  good  heavens  !  B  ould  you  have  seen  him  ? " 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  would  or  not.  That's 
neither  here  nor  there.  I  don't  think  it  was  very  nice 
of  you  to  shift  the  whole  responsibility  on  me." 

"  How  did  I  do  that  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  I  kept 
the  whole  responsibility  myself." 

"  Yes,  altogether  too  much.  What  became  of  him, 
then?" 

"  We  walked  along  a  little  farther,  and  then — " 

"  Then,  what  ?     Where  is  the  man  ?  " 

"  He's  down  in  the  parlor,"  I  answered  hardily,  in 
the  voice  of  some  one  else. 

My  wife  stood  up  from  the  lounge,  and  I  rose,  too, 
for  whatever  penalty  she  chose  to  inflict. 


A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER.  311 

"  Well,  Basil,  that  is  what  I  call  a  very  cowardly 
thing." 

"Yes,  my  dear,  it  is;  I  ought  to  have  protected 
you  against  his  appeal.  But  you  needn't  see  him. 
It's  practically  the  same  as  if  he  had  not  come  here. 
I  can  send  him  away." 

"  And  you  call  that  practically  the  same  !  No,  /  am 
the  one  that  will  have  to  do  the  refusing  now,  and  it 
is  all  off  your  shoulders.  And  you  knew  I  was  not 
feeling  very  well,  either !  Basil,  how  could  you  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  The  abject  creature  drove  me  out 
of  my  senses.  I  suppose  that  if  I  had  respected  him 
more,  or  believed  in  him  more,  I  should  have  had 
more  strength  to  refuse  him.  But  his  limpness  seemed 
to  impart  itself  to  me,  and  I — I  gave  way.  But  really 
you  needn't  see  him,  Isabel.  I  can  tell  him  we  have 
talked  it  over,  and  I  concluded,  entirely  of  myself, 
that  it  was  best  for  you  not  to  meet  him,  and — " 

"  He  would  see  through  that  in  an  instant.  And  if 
he  is  still  the  false  creature  you  think  he  is,  we  owe 
him  the  truth,  more  than  any  other  kind  of  man. 
You  must  understand  that,  Basil ! " 

"  Then  you  are  going  to — " 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,  Basil,  please,"  she  said,  and 
with  an  air  of  high  offence  she  swept  out  of  the  room, 


312  A   CIBCLE   IN   THE   WATEB. 

and  out  to  the  landing  of  the  stairs.  There  she  hesi 
tated  a  moment,  and  put  her  hand  to  her  hair,  me 
chanically,  to  feel  if  it  were  in  order,  and  then  she 
went  on  downstairs  without  further  faltering.  It  was 
I  who  descended  slowly,  and  with  many  misgivings. 


IV. 


TEDHAM  was  sitting  in  the  chair  I  had  shown  him 
when  I  brought  him  in,  and  in  the  half-light  of  one 
gas-burner  in  the  chandelier  he  looked,  with  his  rough, 
clean  clothes,  and  his  slouch  hat  lying  in  his  lap,  like 
some  sort  of  decent  workingman ;  his  features,  refined 
by  the  mental  suffering  he  had  undergone,  and  the 
pallor  of  a  complexion  so  seldom  exposed  to  the  open 
air,  gave  him  the  effect  of  a  workingman  just  out  of 
the  hospital.  His  eyes  were  deep  in  their  sockets, 
and  showed  fine  shadows  in  the  overhead  light,  and  I 
must  say  he  looked  very  interesting. 

At  the  threshold  my  wife  paused  again ;  then  she 
went  forward,  turning  the  gas  up  full  as  she  passed 
under  the  chandelier,  and  gave  him  her  hand,  where 
he  had  risen  from  his  chair. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Tedham,"  she  said ; 
and  I  should  have  found  my  astonishment  overpower 
ing,  I  dare  say,  if  I  had  not  felt  that  I  was  so  com- 


314  A   CIRCLE   IN   THE    WATER. 

pletely  in  the  hands  of  Providence,  when  she  added, 
"Won't  you  come  out  to  dinner  with  us?  We  were 
just  going  to  sit  down,  when  Mr.  March  came  in.  I 
never  know  when  he  will  be  back,  when  he  starts  off 
on  these  Saturday  afternoon  tramps  of  his." 

The  children  seemed  considerably  mystified  at  the 
appearance  of  our  guest,  but  they  had  that  superior 
interest  in  the  dinner  appropriate  to  their  years,  and 
we  got  through  the  ordeal,  in  which,  I  believe,  I  suf 
fered  more  than  any  one  else,  much  better  than  I  could 
have  hoped.  I  could  not  help  noting  in  Tedham  a 
certain  strangeness  to  the  use  of  a  four-pronged  fork, 
at  first,  but  he  rapidly  overcame  this ;  and  if  it  had 
not  been  for  a  terrible  moment  when,  after  one  of  the 
courses,  he  began,  mechanically,  to  scrape  his  plate 
with  his  knife,  there  would  not  have  been  anything 
very  odd  in  his  behavior,  or  anything  to  show  that  it 
was  the  first  dinner  in  polite  society  that  he  had  taken 
for  so  many  years. 

The  man's  mind  had  apparently  stiffened  more  than 
his  body.  It  used  to  be  very  agile,  if  light,  but  it  was 
not  agile  now.  It  worked  slowly  toward  the  topics 
which  we  found  with  difficulty,  in  our  necessity  of 
avoiding  the  only  topics  of  real  interest  between  us, 
and  I  could  perceive  that  his  original  egotism,  inten- 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  315 

sified  by  the  long  years  in  which  he  had  only  himself 
for  company,  now  stood  in  the  way  of  his  entering 
into  the  matters  brought  forward,  though  he  tried  to 
do  so.  They  were  mostly  in  the  form  of  reminis 
cences  of  this  person  and  that  whom  we  had  known  in 
common,  and  even  in  this  shape  they  had  to  be  very 
carefully  handled  so  as  not  to  develop  anything  lead 
ing.  The  thing  that  did  most  to  relieve  the  embar 
rassment  of  the  time  was  the  sturdy  hunger  Tedham 
showed,  and  his  delight  in  the  cooking ;  I  suppose  that 
I  cannot  make  others  feel  the  pathos  I  found  in  this. 

After  dinner  we  shut  the  children  into  the  library, 
and  kept  Tedham  with  us  in  the  parlor. 

My  wife  began  at  once  to  say,  "  Mr.  March  has  told 
me  why  you  wanted  to  see  me,  Mr.  Tedham." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  as  if  he  were  afraid  to  say  more 
lest  he  should  injure  his  cause. 

"  I  think  that  it  would  not  be  the  least  use  for  me 
to  go  to  Mrs.  Hasketh.  In  the  first  place  I  do  not 
know  her  very  well,  and  I  have  not  seen  her  for  years, 
I  am  not  certain  she  would  see  me." 

Tedham  turned  the  hollows  of  his  eyes  upon  my 
wife,  and  asked,  huskily,  "  Won't  you  try  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  most  unexpectedly  to  me,  "  I 
will  try  to  see  her.  But  if  I  do  see  her,  and  she  re- 


316  A   CIRCLE    IN   THE    WATER. 

fuses  to  tell  me  anything  about  your  daughter,  what 
will  you  do  ?  Of  course,  I  shall  have  to  tell  her  I 
come  from  you,  and  for  you." 

"  I  thought,"  Tedham  ventured,  with  a  sort  of  tim 
orous  slyness,  "  that  perhaps  you  might  approach  it 
casually,  without  any  reference  to  me." 

"  No,  I  couldn't  do  that,"  my  wife  said. 

He  went  on  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her :  "  If  she  did 
not  know  that  the  inquiries  were  made  in  my  behalf, 
she  might  be  willing  to  say  whether  my  daughter  was 
with  her." 

There  was  in  this  suggestion  a  quality  of  Tedham's 
old  insinuation,  but  coarser,  inferior,  as  if  his  insinu 
ation  had  degenerated  into  something  like  mere  animal 
cunning.  I  felt  rather  ashamed  for  him,  but  to  my 
surprise,  my  wife  seemed  only  to  feel  sorry,  and  did 
not  repel  his  suggestion  in  the  way  I  had  thought  she 
would. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  that  wouldn't  do.  She  has  kept 
account  of  the  time,  you  may  be  sure,  and  she  would 
ask  me  at  once  if  I  was  inquiring  in  your  behalf,  and 
I  should  have  to  tell  her  the  truth." 

"I  didn't  know,"  he  returned,  "but  you  might 
evade  the  point,  somehow.  So  much  being  at  stake," 
he  added,  as  if  explaining. 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  317 

Still  my  wife  was  not  severe  with  him.  "  I  don't 
understand,  quite,"  she  said. 

"  Being  the  turning-point  in  my  life,  I  can't  begin 
to  do  anything,  to  be  anything,  till  I  have  seen  my 
daughter.  I  don't  know  where  to  find  myself.  If  I 
could  see  her,  and  she  did  not  cast  me  off,  then  I 
should  know  where  I  was.  Or,  if  she  did,  I  should. 
You  understand  that." 

"  But,  of  course,  there  is  another  point  of  view." 
"  My  daughter's  ?  " 
"  Mrs.  Hasketh's." 

"  I  don't  care  for  Mrs.  Hasketh.  She  did  what  she 
has  done  for  the  child's  sake.  It  was  the  best  thing 
for  the  child  at  the  time — the  only  thing ;  I  know  that. 
But  I  agreed  to  it  because  I  had  to." 

He  continued :  "  I  consider  that  I  have  expiated  the 
wrong  I  did.  There  is  no  sense  in  the  whole  thing, 
if  I  haven't.  They  might  as  well  have  let  me  go  in 
the  beginning.  Don't  you  think  that  ten  years  out  of 
my  life  is  enough  for  a  thing  that  I  never  intended  to 
go  as  far  as  it  did,  and  a  thing  that  I  was  led  into, 
partly,  for  the  sake  of  others  ?  I  have  tried  to  reason 
it  out,  and  not  from  my  own  point  of  view  at  all,  and 
that  is  the  way  I  feel  about  it.  Is  it  to  go  on  for 
ever,  and  am  I  never  to  be  rid  of  the  consequences 


318  A  CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER. 

of  a  single  act  ?  If  you  and  Mr.  March  could  con 
done—" 

" Oh,  you  mustn't  reason  from  us"  my  wife  broke 
in.  "  We  are  very  silly  people,  and  we  do  not  look 
at  a  great  many  things  as  others  do.  You  have  got  to 
reckon  with  the  world  at  large." 

"I  have  reckoned  with  the  world  at  large,  and  I 
have  paid  the  reckoning.  But  why  shouldn't  my 
daughter  look  at  this  thing  as  you  do?" 

Instead  of  answering,  my  wife  asked,  "  When  did 
you  hear  from  her  last  ?  " 

Tedham  took  a  few  thin,  worn  letters  from  his 
breast-pocket.  "  There  is  Mr.  March's  letter,"  he  said, 
laying  one  on  his  knee.  He  handed  my  wife  another. 

She  read  it,  and  asked,  "May  Mr.  March  see  it?" 

Tedham  nodded,  and  I  took  the  little  paper  in  turn. 
The  letter  was  written  in  a  child's  stiff,  awkward  hand. 
It  was  hardly  more  than  a  piteous  cry  of  despairing 
love.  The  address  was  Mrs.  Hasketh's,  in  Somerville, 
and  the  date  was  about  three  months  after  Tedham' s 
punishment  began.  "  Is  that  the  last  you  have  heard 
from  her  ? "  I  asked. 

Tedham  nodded  as  he  took  the  letter  from  me. 

"  But  surely  you  have  heard  something  more  about 
her  in  all  this  time  ? "  my  wife  pursued. 


A   CIRCLE   IN    THE    WATER.  819 

"Once  from  Mrs.  Hasketh,  to  make  me  promise 
that  I  would  leave  the  child  to  her  altogether,  and  not 
write  to  her,  or  ask  to  see  her.  When  I  went  to  the 
cemetery  to-day,  I  did  not  know  but  I  should  find  her 
grave,  too." 

"  Well,  it  is  cruel ! "  cried  my  wife.  "  I  will  go  and 
see  Mrs.  Hasketh,  but — you  ought  to  feel  yourself 
that  it's  hopeless." 

"Yes,"  he  admitted.  "There  isn't  much  chance 
unless  she  should  happen  to  think  the  same  way  you 
do :  that  I  had  suffered  enough,  and  that  it  was  time 
to  stop  punishing  me." 

My  wife  looked  compassionately  at  him,  and  she  be 
gan  with  a  sympathy  that  I  have  not  always  known 
her  to  show  more  deserving  people,  "If  it  were  a 
question  of  that  alone  it  would  be  very  easy.  But 
suppose  your  daughter  were  so  situated  that  it  would 
be — disadvantageous  to  her  to  have  it  known  that  you 
were  her  father  ? " 

"  You  mean  that  I  have  no  right  to  mend  my  bro- 
ken-up  life — what  there  is  left  of  it — by  spoiling  hers  ? 
I  have  said  that  to  myself.  But  then,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  have  had  to  ask  myself  whether  I  had  any 
right  to  keep  her  from  choosing  for  herself  about  it. 
I  sha'n't  force  myself  on  her.  I  expect  to  leave  her 


320  A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER. 

free.  But  if  the  child  cares  for  me,  as  she  used  to, 
hasn't  that  love — not  mine  for  her,  but  hers  for  me 
— got  some  rights  too  ? " 

His  voice  sank  almost  to  a  hush,  and  the  last  word 
was  scarcely  more  than  a  breathing.  "  All  I  want  is 
to  know  where  she  is,  and  to  let  her  know  that  I  am 
in  the  world,  and  where  she  can  find  me.  I  think  she 
ought  to  have  a  chance  to  decide." 

"  I  am  afraid  Mrs.  Hasketh  may  think  it  would  be 
better,  for  her  sake,  not  to  have  the  chance,"  my  wife 
sighed,  and  she  turned  her  look  from  Tedham  upon 
me,  as  if  she  wished  me  rather  than  him  to  answer. 

"The  only  way  to  find  out  is  to  ask  her,"  I  an 
swered,  non-committally,  and  rather  more  lightly  than 
1  felt  about  it.  In  fact,  the  turn  the  affair  had  taken 
interested  me  greatly.  It  involved  that  awful  mystery 
of  the  ties  by  which,  unless  we  are  born  of  our  fathers 
and  mothers  for  nothing  more  than  the  animals  are, 
we  are  bound  to  them  in  all  the  things  of  life,  in  duty 
and  in  love  transcending  every  question  of  interest  and 
happiness.  The  parents'  duty  to  the  children  is  ob 
vious  and  plain,  but  the  child's  duty  to  its  parents  is 
something  subtler  and  more  spiritual.  It  is  to  be 
more  delicately,  more  religiously,  regarded.  No  one, 
without  impiety,  can  meddle  with  it  from  the  outside, 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  321 

or  interfere  in  its  fulfilment.  This  and  much  more 
I  said  to  my  wife  when  we  came  to  talk  the  matter 
over  after  Tedharn  left  us.  \Above  all,  I  urged  some 
thing  that  came  to  me  so  forcibly  at  the  moment  that 
I  said  I  had  always  thought  it,  and  perhaps  I  really 
believed  that  I  had.  "  Why  should  we  try  to  shield 
people  from  fate  ?  Isn't  that  always  wrong  ?  One  is 
fated  to  be  born  the  child  of  a  certain  father,  and  one 
can  no  more  escape  the  consequences  of  his  father's 
misdeeds  than  the  doer  himself  can.  Perhaps  the 
pain  and  the  shame  come  from  the.  wish  and  the  at 
tempt  to  do  so,  more  than  from  the  fact  itself.  The 
sins  of  the  fathers  shall  be  visited  upon  the  children. 
But  the  children  are  innocent  of  evil,  and  this  visita 
tion  must  be  for  their  good,  and  will  be,  if  they  bear 
it  willingly." 

"  Well,  don't  try  to  be  that  sort  of  blessing  to  your 
children,  Basil,"  said  my  wife,  personalizing  the  case, 
as  a  woman  must.f 

After  that  we  tried  to  account  to  each  other  for 
having  consented  to  do  what  Tedham  asked  us.  Per 
haps  we  accused  each  other  somewhat  for  doing  it. 

"  I  didn't  know,  my  dear,  but  you  were  going  to 
ask  him  to  come  and  stay  with  us,"  I  said. 

"  I  did  want  to,"  she  replied.     "  It  seemed  so  for- 
X 


322  A    CIKCL.E    IN    THE    WATER. 

lorn,  letting  him  go  out  into  the  night,  and  find  a 
place  for  himself,  when  we  could  just  as  well  have  let 
him  stay  as  not.  Why  shouldn't  we  have  offered  him 
a  bed  for  the  night,  as  we  would  any  other  acquaint 
ance  ? " 

"  Well,  you  must  allow  that  the  circumstances  were 
peculiar ! " 

"  But  if  he  was  sentenced  to  pay  a  certain  penalty, 
and  has  paid  it,  why,  as  he  said,  shouldn't  we  stop 
punishing  him  ? " 

"I  suppose  we  can't.  There  seems  to  be  an  in 
stinctive  demand  for  eternal  perdition,  for  hell,  in  the 
human  heart,"  I  suggested. 

"  Well,  then,  I  believe  that  your  instinct,  Basil — " 

"  Oh,  /  don't  claim  it,  exclusively  !  " 

"  Is  a  survival  of  savagery,  and  the  sooner  we  get 
rid  of  it  the  better.  How  queer  he  seems.  It  is  the 
old  Tedham,  but  all  faded  in — or  out." 

"Yes,  he  affected  me  like  an  etching  of  himself 
from  a  wornout  plate.  Still,  I'm  afraid  there's  like 
ness  enough  left  to  make  trouble,  yet.  I  hope  you 
realize  what  you  have  gone  in  for,  Isabel  ? " 

She  answered  from  the  effort  that  I  could  see  she 
was  making,  to  brace  herself  already  for  the  work  be 
fore  us: 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER  323 

"  Well,  we  must  do  this  because  we  can't  help  do 
ing  it,  and  because,  whatever  happens,  we  had  no 
right  to  refuse.  You  must  come  with  me,  Basil !  " 

"I?     To  Mrs.  Hasketh's?" 

"  Certainly.  I  will  do  the  talking,  but  I  shall  de 
pend  upon  your  moral  support.  We  will  go  over  to 
Somerville  to-morrow  afternoon.  We  had  better  not 
lose  any  time." 

"  To-morrow  is  Sunday." 

"  So  much  the  better.  They  will  be  sure  to  be  at 
home,  if  they're  there  at  all,  yet." 

She  said  they,  but  I  knew  that  she  did  not  expeci 
poor  old  Hasketh  really  to  count  in  the  matter,  any 
more  than  she  expected  me  to  do  so. 


V. 

\  THE  Haskeths  lived  in  a  house  that  withdrew  itself 
behind  tall  garden  trees  in  a  large  lot  sloping  down 
the  hillside,  in  one  of  the  quieter  old  streets  of  their 
suburb.  The  trees  were  belted  in  by  a  board  fence, 
painted  a  wornout  white,  as  far  as  it  was  solid,  which 
was  to  the  height  of  one's  shoulder ;  there  it  opened 
into  a  panel  work  of  sticks  crossed  X-wisc,  which  wore 
a  coat  of  aged  green  ;  the  strip  above  them  was  set 
with  a  bristling  row  of  rusty  nails,  which  were  sup 
posed  to  keep  out  people  who  could  perfectly  well 
have  gone  in  at  the  gate  as  we  did.  There  was  a  brick 
walk  from  the  gate  to  the  door,  which  was  not  so  far 
back  as  I  remembered  it  (perhaps  because  the  leaves 
were  now  off  the  trees),  and  there  was  a  border  of  box 
on  either  side  of  the  walk.  Altogether  there  was  an 
old-fashioned  keeping  in  the  place  which  I  should  have 
rather  enjoyed  if  I  had  been  coming  on  any  other 
errand;  but  now  it  imparted  to  me  a  notion  of  people 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  325 

set  in    their  ways,    of   something  severe,   something 
hopelessly  forbidding,  f 

I  do  not  think  there  had  ever  been  much  intimacy 
between  the  Tedhams  and  the  Haskeths,  before  Ted- 
ham's  calamity  came  upon  him.  But  Mrs.  Hasketh 
did  not  refuse  her  share  of  it.  She  came  forward, 
and  probably  made  her  husband  come  forward,  in 
Tedham's  behalf,  and  do  what  hopelessly  could  be 
done  to  defend  him  where  there  was  really  no  defence, 
and  the  only  thing  to  be  attempted  was  to  show  cir 
cumstances  that  might  perhaps  tend  to  the  mitigation 
of  his  sentence.  I  do  not  think  they  did.  Tedham 
had  confessed  himself  and  had  been  proven  such  a 
thorough  rogue,  and  the  company  had  lately  suffered 
so  much  through  operations  like  his,  that,  even  if  it 
could  have  had  mercy,  as  an  individual  may,  mercy 
was  felt  to  be  bad  morals,  and  the  case  was  unrelent 
ingly  pushed.  His  sentence  was  of  those  sentences 
which  an  eminent  jurist  once  characterized  as  rather 
dramatic ;  it  was  pronounced  not  so  much  in  relation  to 
his  particular  offence,  as  with  the  purpose  of  striking 
terror  into  all  offenders  like  him,  who  were  becoming 
altogether  too  common.  He  was  made  to  suffer  for 
many  other  peculators,  who  had  been,  or  were  about 
to  be,  and  was  given  the  full  penalty.  I  was  in  court 


326  A    CIRCLE   IN   THE    WATER. 

when  it  was  pronounced  with  great  solemnity  by  the 
judge,  who  read  him  a  lecture  in  doing  so ;  I  could 
have  read  the  judge  another,  for  I  could  not  help  feel 
ing  that  it  was,  more  than  all  the  sentences  I  had  ever 
heard  pronounced,  wholly  out  of  keeping  with  the 
offence.  I  met  Hasketh  coming  out  of  the  court-room, 
and  I  said  that  I  thought  it  was  terribly  severe.  He 
agreed  with  me,  and  as  I  knew  that  he  and  Tedham 
had  never  liked  each  other,  I  inferred  a  kindliness  in 
him  which  made  me  his  friend,  in  the  way  one  is  the 
friend  of  a  man  one  never  meets.  He  was  a  man  of 
few  words,  and  he  now  simply  said,  "  It  was  unjust," 
and  we  parted. 

For  several  months  after  Tedham's  conviction,  I  did 
not  think  we  ought  to  intrude  upon  the  Haskeths ;  but 
then  my  wife  and  I  both  felt  that  we  ought,  in  de 
cency,  to  make  some  effort  to  see  them.  They  seemed 
pleased,  but  they  made  us  no  formal  invitation  to 
come  again,  and  we  never  did.  That  day,  however,  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Tedham's  little  girl,  as  she  flitted 
through  the  hall,  after  we  were  seated  in  the  parlor; 
she  was  in  black,  a  forlorn  little  shadow  in  the  shad 
ow  ;  and  I  recalled  now,  as  we  stood  once  more  on  the 
threshold  of  the  rather  dreary  house,  a  certain  gentle 
ness  of  bearing  in  the  child,  which  I  found  infinitely 


A   CIRCLE    IN    THE   WATER.  327 

pathetic,  at  that  early  moment  of  her  desolation.  She 
had  something  of  poor  Tedham's  own  style  and  grace, 
too,  which  had  served  him  so  ill,  and  this  heightened 
the  pathos  for  me.  In  that  figure  I  had  thought  of 
his  daughter  ever  since,  as  often  as  I  had  thought  of 
her  at  all ;  which  was  not  very  often,  to  tell  the  truth, 
after  the  first  painful  impression  of  Tedham's  affair 
began  to  die  away  in  me,  or  to  be  effaced  by  the  ac 
cumulating  cares  and  concerns  of  my  own  life.  But 
now  that  we  had  returned  into  the  presence  of  that 
bitter  sorrow,  as  it  were,  the  little  thing  reappeared 
vividly  to  me  in  just  the  way  I  had  seen  her  so  long 
ago.  My  sense  of  her  forlornness,  of  her  most  hapless 
orphanhood,  was  intensified  by  the  implacable  hate 
with  which  Mrs.  Hasketh  had  then  spoken  of  her  fa 
ther,  in  telling  us  that  the  child  was  henceforth  to 
bear  her  husband's  name,  and  had  resentfully  scorned 
the  merit  Tedham  tried  to  make  of  giving  her  up  to 
them.  "  And  if  I  can  help  it,"  she  had  ended,  with 
a  fierceness  I  had  never  forgotten,  "  she  shall  not  hear 
him  mentioned  again,  or  see  him  as  long  as  I  live." 
My  wife  and  I  now  involuntarily  dropped  our  voices, 
or  rather  they  sank  into  our  throats,  as  we  sat  waiting 
in  the  dim  parlor,  after  the  maid  took  our  cards  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hasketh.  We  tried  to  make  talk,  but  we 


328  A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

could  not,  and  we  were  funereally  quiet,  when  Has- 
keth  came  pottering  and  peering  in,  and  shook  hands 
with  both  of  us.  He  threw  open  half  a  blind  at  one 
of  the  windows,  and  employed  himself  in  trying  to 
put  up  the  shade,  to  gain  time,  as  I  thought,  before 
he  should  be  obliged  to  tell  us  that  his  wife  could  not 
see  us.  Then  he  came  to  me,  and  asked,  "  Won't  you 
let  me  take  your  hat  ?  "  as  such  people  do,  in  expres 
sion  of  a  vague  hospitality ;  and  I  let  him  take  it,  and 
put  it  mouth  down  on  the  marble  centre-table,  beside 
the  large,  gilt-edged,  black-bound  family  Bible.  He 
drew  a  chair  near  me,  in  a  row  with  my  wife  and  my 
self,  and  said,  "  It  is  quite  a  number  of  years  since 
we  met,  Mrs.  March,"  and  he  looked  across  me  at  her. 

"Yes,  I  am  almost  afraid  to  think  how  many,"  she 
answered. 

"  Family  well  ? " 

"  Yes,  our  children  are  both  very  well,  Mr.  Has- 
keth.  You  seem  to  be  looking  very  well,  too." 

"  Thank  you,  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of.  I  ara 
not  so  young  as  I  was.  But  that  is  about  all." 

"  I  hope  Mrs.  Hasketh  is  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  she  is  quite  well,  for  her.  She 
is  never  very  strong.  She  will  be  down  in  a  moment.'* 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  see  her." 


A   CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  329 

The  conversation,  which  might  be  said  to  have 
flagged  from  the  beginning,  stopped  altogether  at  this 
point,  and  though  I  was  prompted  by  several  looks 
from  my  wife  to  urge  it  forward,  I  could  think  of 
nothing  to  do  so  with,  and  we  sat  without  speaking 
till  we  heard  the  stir  of  skirts  on  the  stairs  in  the  hall 
outside,  and  then  my  wife  said,  "  Ah,  that  is  Mrs. 
Hasketh." 

I  should  have  known  it  was  Mrs.  Hasketh  without 
this  sort  of  anticipation,  I  think,  even  if  I  had  never 
seen  her  before,  she  was  so  like  my  expectation  of 
what  that  sort  of  woman  would  be  in  the  lapse  of 
time,  with  her  experience  of  life.  The  severity  that 
I  had  seen  come  and  go  in  her  countenance  in  former 
days  was  now  so  seated  that  she  had  no  other  expres 
sion,  and  I  may  say  without  caricature  that  she  gave 
us  a  frown  of  welcome.  That  is,  she  made  us  feel,  in 
spite  of  a  darkened  countenance,  that  she  was  really 
willing  to  see  us  in  her  house,  and  that  she  took  our 
coming  as  a  sign  of  amity.  I  suppose  that  the  indur 
ation  of  her  spirit  was  the  condition  of  her  being  able 
to  bear  at  all  what  had  been  laid  on  her  to  bear,  and 
her  burden  had  certainly  not  been  light. 

At  her  appearance  her  husband,  without  really  stir 
ring  at  all,  had  the  effect  of  withdrawing  into  the 


330  A   CIRCLE   IN   THE    WATER. 

background,  where,  indeed,  I  tacitly  joined  him ;  and 
the  two  ladies  remained  in  charge  of  the  drama,  while 
he  and  I  conversed,  as  it  were,  in  dumb  show.  Apart 
from  my  sympathy  with  her  in  the  matter,  I  was  very 
curious  to  see  how  my  wife  would  play  her  part,  which 
seemed  to  me  far  the  more  difficult  of  the  two,  since 
she  must  make  all  the  positive  movements. 

After  some  civilities  so  obviously  perfunctory  that  I 
admired  the  force  of  mind  in  the  women  who  uttered 
them,  my  wife  said,  "  Mrs.  Hasketh,  we  have  come 
on  an  errand  that  I  know  will  cause  you  pain,  and  I 
needn't  say  that  we  haven't  come  willingly." 

"  Is  it  about  Mr.  Tedham  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Hasketh, 
and  I  remembered  now  that  she  had  always  used  as 
much  ceremony  in  speaking  of  him ;  it  seemed  rather 
droll  now,  but  still  it  would  not  have  been  in  character 
with  her  to  call  him  simply  Tedham,  as  we  did,  in 
speaking  of  him. 

"  Yes,"  said  my  wife.  "  I  don't  know  whether  you 
had  kept  exact  account  of  the  time.  It  was  a  surprise 
to  us,  for  we  hadn't.  He  is  out,  you  know." 

"  Yes — at  noon,  yesterday.  I  wasn't  likely  o  for 
get  the  day,  or  the  hour,  or  the  minute."  Mrs.  Has 
keth  said  this  without  relaxing  the  severity  of  her 
face  at  all,  and  I  confess  my  heart  went  down. 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  331 

But  my  wife  seemed  not  to  have  lost  such  courage 
as  she  had  come  with,  at  least.  "  He  has  been  to  see 
us—" 

"  I  presumed  so,"  said  Mrs.  Hasketh,  and  as  she 
said  nothing  more,  Mrs.  March  took  the  word  again. 

"  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  why  he  came — why  we 
came.  It  was  something  that  we  did  not  wish  to  enter 
into,  and  at  first  my  husband  refused  outright.  But 
when  I  saw  him,  and  thought  it  over,  I  did  not  see 
how  we  could  refuse.  After  all,  it  is  something  yon 
must  have  expected,  and  that  you  must  have  been  ex 
pecting  at  once,  if  you  say — " 

"  I  presume,"  Mrs.  Hasketh  said,  "  that  he  wished 
you  to  ask  after  his  daughter.  I  can  understand  why 
he  did  not  come  to  us."  She  let  one  of  those  dread 
ful  silences  follow,  and  again  my  wife  was  forced  to 
speak. 

"  It  is  something  that  we  didn't  mean  to  press  at 
all,  Mrs.  Hasketh,  and  I  won't  say  anything  more. 
Only,  if  you  care  to  send  any  word  to  him  he  will  be 
at  our  house  this  evening  again,  and  I  will  give  him 
your  message."  She  rose,  not  in  resentment,  as  I 
could  see  (and  I  knew  that  she  had  not  come  upon 
this  errand  without  making  herself  Tedham's  partisan 
in  some  measure),  but  with  sincere  good  feeling  and 


332  A    CHICLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

appreciation  of  Mrs.  Hasketh's  position.  I  rose  with 
her,  and  Hasketh  rose  too. 

"  Oh,  don't  go  !  "  Mrs.  Hasketh  broke  out,  as  if 
surprised.  "  You  couldn't  help  coming,  and  I  don't 
blame  you  at  all.  I  don't  blame  Mr.  Tedham  even.  I 
didn't  suppose  I  should  ever  forgive  him.  But  there ! 
that's  all  long  ago,  and  the  years  do  change  us.  They 
change  us  all,  Mrs.  March,  and  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  had 
the  right  to  judge  anybody  the  way  I  used  to  judge 
him.  Sometimes  it  surprises  me.  I  did  hate  him, 
and  I  don't  presume  I've  got  very  much  love  for  him 
now,  but  I  don't  want  to  punish  him  any  more.  That's 
gone  out  of  me.  I  don't  know  how  it  came  to  go, 
but  it  went.  I  wish  he  hadn't  ever  got  anything  more 
to  do  with  us,  but  I'm  afraid  we  haven't  had  all  our 
punishment  yet,  whatever  he  has.  It  seems  to  me  as 
if  the  sight  of  Mr.  Tedham  would  make  me  sick." 

I  found  such  an  insufficiency  in  this  statement  of 
feeling  that  I  wanted  to  laugh,  but  I  perceived  that  it 
did  not  appeal  to  my  wife's  sense  of  humor.  She 
said,  "  I  can  understand  how  you  feel  about  it,  Mrs. 
Hasketh." 

Mrs.  Hasketh  seemed  grateful  for  the  sympathy. 
"  I  presume,"  she  went  on,  and  I  noted  how  often  she 
used  the  quaint  old-fashioned  Yankee  word,  "  that  you 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  333 

feel  as  if  you  had  almost  as  much  right  to  hate  him  as 
I  had,  and  that  if  you  could  overlook  what  he  tried  to 
do  to  you,  I  might  overlook  what  he  did  do  to  his 
own  family.  But  as  I  see  it,  the  case  is  different. 
He  failed  when  he  tried  to  put  the  blame  on  Mr. 
March,  and  he  succeeded  only  too  well  in  putting  the 
shame  on  his  own  family.  You  could  forgive  it,  and 
it  would  be  all  the  more  to  your  credit  because  you 
forgave  it,  but  his  family  might  have  forgiven  it  ten 
times  over,  and  still  they  would  be  in  disgrace  through 
him.  That  is  the  way  I  looked  at  it." 

"  And  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Hasketh,  that  is  the  way 
I  looked  at  it,  too,"  said  my  wife. 

"  So,  when  it  seems  hard  that  I  should  have  taken 
his  child  from  him,"  the  woman  continued,  as  if  still 
arguing  her  case,  and  she  probably  was  arguing  it  with 
herself,  "and  did  what  I  could  to  make  her  forget 
him,  I  think  it  had  better  be  considered  whose  sake  I 
was  doing  it  for,  and  whether  I  had  any  right  to  do 
different.  I  did  not  think  I  had  at  the  time,  or  when 
I  had  to  begin  to  act.  I  knew  how  I  felt  toward  Mr. 
Tedham ;  I  never  liked  him ;  I  never  wanted  my  sister 
to  marry  him ;  and  when  his  trouble  came,  I  told  Mr. 
Ilasketh  that  it  was  no  more  than  I  had  expected  all 
along.  He  was  that  kind  of  a  man,  and  he  was  sure 


334  A    CHICLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

to  show  it,  one  way  or  other,  sooner  or  later;  and  I 
was  not  disappointed  when  he  did  what  he  did.  I 
had  to  guard  against  my  own  feeling,  and  to  put  my 
self  out  of  the  question,  and  that  was  what  I  tried  to 
do  when  I  got  him  to  give  up  the  child  to  us  and  let 
her  take  our  name.  It  was  the  same  as  a  legal  adop 
tion,  and  he  freely  consented  to  it,  or  as  freely  as  he 
could,  considering  where  he  was.  But  he  knew  it 
was  for  her  good  as  well  as  we  did.  There  was  no 
body  for  her  to  look  to  but  us,  and  he  knew  that ;  his 
own  family  had  no  means,  and,  in  fact,  he  had  no 
family  but  his  father  and  mother,  and  when  they  died, 
that  same  first  year,  there  was  no  one  left  to  suffer 
from  him  but  his  child.  The  question  was  how  much 
she  ought  to  be  allowed  to  suffer,  and  whether  she 
should  be  allowed  to  suffer  at  all,  if  it  could  be  helped. 
If  it  was  to  be  prevented,  it  was  to  be  by  deadening 
her  to  him,  by  killing  out  her  affection  for  him,  and 
much  as  I  hated  Mr.  Tedham,  I  could  not  bring  my 
self  to  do  that,  though  I  used  to  think  I  would  do  it. 
He  was  very  fond  of  her,  I  don't  deny  that ;  I  don't 
think  it  was  any  merit  in  him  to  love  such  a  child, 
but  it  was  the  best  thing  about  him,  and  I  was  willing 
it  should  count.  But  then  there  was  another  thing 
that  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to,  and  that  was  to  tell 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  335 

the  child,  up  and  down,  all  about  it ;  and  I  presume 
that  there  I  was  weak.  Well,  you  may  say  I  was 
weak !  But  I  couldn't,  I  simply  couldn't.  She  was 
only  between  seven  and  eight  when  it  happened — " 

"  I  thought  she  was  older,"  I  ventured  to  put  in, 
remembering  my  impressions  as  to  her  age  the  last 
time  I  saw  her  with  her  father. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Hasketh,  "she  always  appeared 
rather  old  for  her  age,  and  that  made  me  all  the  more 
anxious  to  know  just  how  much  of  the  trouble  she 
had  taken  in.  I  suppose  it  was  all  a  kind  of  awful 
mystery  to  her,  as  most  of  our  trials  are  to  children ; 
but  when  her  father  was  taken  from  her,  she  seemed 
to  think  it  was  something  she  mustn't  ask  about; 
there  are  a  good  many  things  in  the  world  that  chil 
dren  feel  that  way  about — how  they  come  into  it,  for 
one  thing,  and  how  they  go  out  of  it ;  and  by  and  by 
she  didn't  speak  of  it.  She  had  some  of  his  light 
ness,  and  I  presume  that  helped  her  through ;  I  was 
afraid  it  did  sometimes.  Then,  at  other  times,  I 
thought  she  had  got  the  notion  he  was  in  for  life,  and 
that  was  the  reason  she  didn't  speak  of  him ;  she  had 
given  him  up.  Then  I  used  to  wonder  whether  it 
wasn't  my  duty  to  take  her  to  see  him — where  he  was. 
But  when  I  came  to  find  out  that  you  had  to  see  them 


336  A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

through  the  bars,  and  with  the  kind  of  clothes  they 
wear,  I  felt  that  I  might  as  well  kill  the  child  at  once ; 
it  was  for  her  sake  I  didn't  take  her.  You  may  be 
sure  I  wasn't  anxious  for  the  responsibility  of  not  do 
ing  it  either,  the  way  I  knew  I  felt  toward  Mr.  Ted- 
ham." 

I  did  not  like  her  protesting  so  much  as  this ;  but  I 
saw  that  it  was  a  condition  of  her  being  able  to  deal 
with  herself  in  the  matter,  and  I  had  no  doubt  she  was 
telling  the  truth. 

"  You  never  can  know  just  how  much  of  a  thing 
children  have  taken  in,  or  how  much  they  have  under 
stood,"  she  continued,  repeating  herself,  as  she  did 
throughout,  "  and  I  had  to  keep  this  in  mind  when  I 
had  my  talks  with  Fay  about  her  father.  She  wanted 
to  write  to  him  at  first,  and  of  course  I  let  her — " 

My  wife    and    I   could  not    forbear   exchanging  a 
glance  of  intelligence,  which  Mrs.  Hasketh  intercepted. 
"  I  presume  he  told  you  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  he  showed  us  the  letter." 
"  Well,  it  was  something  that  had  to  be  done.     As 
long  as  she  questioned  me  about  him,  I  put  her  off 
the  best  way  I  could,  and  after  a  while  she  seemed  to 
give  up  questioning  me  of  her  own  accord.     Perhaps 
she  really  began  to  understand  it,  or  some  of  the  cruel 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  337 

little  things  she  played  with  said  something.  I  was 
always  afraid  of  the  other  children  throwing  it  up  to 
her,  and  that  was  one  reason  we  went  away  for  three 
or  four  years  and  let  our  place  here." 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  gone,"  I  said  toward 
llasketh,  who  cleared  his  throat  to  explain  : 

"  I  had  some  interests  at  that  time  in  Canada.  We 
were  at  Quebec." 

"  It  shows  what  a  rush  our  life  is,"  I  philosophized, 
with  the  implication  that  Hasketh  and  I  had  been  old 
friends,  and  I  ought  to  have  noticed  that  I  had  not 
met  him  during  the  time  of  his  absence.  The  fact 
was  we  had  never  come  so  near  intimacy  as  when  we 
exchanged  confidences  concerning  the  severity  of  Ted- 
ham's  sentence  in  coming  out  of  the  court-room  to 
gether. 

"  /  hadn't  any  interest  in  Canada,  except  to  get  the 
child  away,"  said  Mrs.  Hasketh.  "  Sometimes  it 
seemed  strange  we  should  be  in  Canada,  and  not  Mr. 
Tedharn !  She  got  acquainted  with  some  little  girls 
who  were  going  to  a  convent  school  there  as  externes 
— outside  pupils,  you  know,"  Mrs.  Hasketh  explained 
to  my  wife.  "  She  got  very  fond  of  one  of  them — 
she  is  a  child  of  very  warm  affections.  I  never  denied 
that  Mr.  Tcdhain  lia-i  v/arm  affections — and  when  her 


338  A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

little  girl  friend  went  into  the  convent  to  go  on  with 
her  education  there,  Fay  wanted  to  go  too,  and — we 
let  her.  That  was  when  she  was  twelve,  and  Mr.  Has- 
keth  felt  that  he  ought  to  come  back  and  look  after 
his  business  here ;  and  we  left  her  in  the  convent. 
Just  as  soon  as  she  was  out  of  the  way,  and  out  of  the 
question,  it  seemed  as  if  I  got  to  feeling  differently 
toward  Mr.  Tedham.  I  don't  mean  to  say  I  ever  got 
to  like  him,  or  that  I  do  to  this  day ;  but  I  saw  that 
he  had  some  rights,  too,  and  for  years  and  years  I 
wanted  to  take  the  child  and  tell  her  when  he  was 
coming  out.  I  used  to  ask  myself  what  right  I  even 
had  to  keep  the  child  from  the  suffering.  The  suffer 
ing  was  hers  by  rights,  and  she  ought  to  go  through 
it.  I  got  almost  crazy  thinking  it  over.  I  got  to 
thinking  that  her  share  of  her  father's  shame  might 
be  the  very  thing,  of  all  things,  that  was  to  discipline 
her  and  make  her  a  good  and  useful  woman ;  and  that's 
much  more  than  being  a  happy  one,  Mrs.  March  ;  we 
can't  any  of  us  be  truly  happy,  no  matter  what's  done 
for  us.  I  tried  to  make  believe  that  I  was  sparing  her 
alone,  but  I  knew  I  was  sparing  myself,  too,  and  that 
made  it  harder  to  decide."  She  suddenly  addressed 
herself  to  us  both :  "  What  would  you  have  done  ? " 
My  wife  and  I  looked  at  each  other  in  a  dismay  in 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  339 

which  a  glance  from  old  Hasketh  assured  us  that  we 
had  his  sympathy.  It  would  have  been  far  simpler 
if  Mrs.  Hasketh  had  been  up  and  down  with  us  as 
Tedham's  emissaries,  and  refused  to  tell  us  anything 
of  his  daughter,  and  left  us  to  report  to  him  that  he 
must  find  her  for  himself  if  he  found  her  at  all.  This 
was  what  we  had  both  expected,  and  we  had  come 
prepared  to  take  back  that  answer  to  Tedham,  and 
discharge  our  whole  duty  towards  him  in  its  delivery. 
This  change  in  the  woman  who  had  hated  him  so 
fiercely,  but  whose  passion  had  worn  itself  down  to 
the  underlying  conscience  with  the  lapse  of  time,  cer 
tainly  complicated  the  case.  I  was  silent;  my  wife 
said:  "  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done,  Mrs. 
Hasketh ; "  and  Mrs.  Hasketh  resumed : 

"  If  I  did  wrong  in  trying  to  separate  her  life  from 
her  father's,  I  was  punished  for  it,  because  when  I 
wanted  to  undo  my  work,  I  didn't  know  how  to  begin ; 
I  presume  that's  the  worst  of  a  wrong  thing.  Well,  I 
never  did  begin  ;  but  now  I've  got  to.  The  time's 
come,  and  I  presume  it's  as  easy  now  as  it  ever  could 
be  ;  easier.  He's  out  and  it's  over,  as  far  as  the  law 
is  concerned;  and  if  she  chooses  she  can  see  him. 
I'll  prepare  her  for  it  as  well  as  I  can,  and  he  can 
come  if  she  wishes  it." 


340  A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  can  see  her  here  ?  "  my  wife 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Hasketh,  with  a  sort  of  strong 
submission. 

"  At  once  ?     To-day  ?  " 

"  No,"  Mrs.  Hasketh  faltered.  "  I  didn't  want  him 
to  see  her  just  the  first  day,  or  before  I  saw  him ;  and 
I  thought  he  might  try  to.  She's  visiting  at  some 
friends  in  Providence ;  but  she'll  be  back  to-morrow. 
He  can  come  to-morrow  night,  if  she  says  so.  He 
can  come  and  find  out.  But  if  he  was  anything  of  a 
man  he  wouldn't  want  to." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  I  ventured,  "  he  isn't  anything  of 
that  kind  of  man." 


VI. 


"  Now,  how  unhandsome  life  is  !  "  I  broke  out,  at 
one  point  on  our  way  home,  after  we  had  turned  the 
affair  over  in  every  light,  and  then  dropped  it,  and 
then  taken  it  up  again.  "  It's  so  graceless,  so  taste 
less  !  Why  didn't  Tedham  die  before  the  expiration 
of  his  term  and  solve  all  this  knotty  problem  with 
dignity  ?  Why  should  he  have  lived  on  in  this  shabby 
way  and  come  out  and  wished  to  see  his  daughter? 
If  there  had  been  anything  dramatic,  anything  artistic 
in  the  man's  nature,  he  would  have  renounced  the 
claim  his  mere  paternity  gives  him  on  her  love,  and 
left  word  with  me  that  he  had  gone  away  and  would 
never  be  heard  of  any  more.  That  was  the  least  he 
could  have  done.  If  he  had  wanted  to  do  the  thing 
heroically — and  I  wouldn't  have  denied  him  that  sat 
isfaction — he  would  have  walked  into  that  pool  in  the 
old  cockpit  and  lain  down  among  the  autumn  leaves 
on  its  surface,  and  made  an  end  of  the  whole  trouble 
with  his  own  burdensome  and  worthless  existence. 


342  A    CIRCLE   IN    THE   WATER. 

That  would   truly  have  put  an  end   to   the  evil   he 


"  I  wouldn't  be — impious,  Basil,"  said  my  wife, 
with  a  moment's  hesitation  for  the  word.  Then  she 
sighed  and  added,  "  Yes,  it  seems  as  if  that  would  be 
the  only  thing  that  could  end  it.  There  doesn't  really 
seem  to  be  any  provision  in  life  for  ending  such 
things.  He  will  have  to  go  on  and  make  more  and 
more  trouble.  Poor  man  !  I  feel  almost  as  sorry  for 
him  as  I  do  for  her.  I  guess  he  hasn't  expiated  his 
sin  yet,  as  fully  as  he  thinks  he  has." 

"  And  then,"  I  went  on,  with  a  strange  pleasure  I 
always  get  out  of  the  poignancy  of  a  despair  not  my 
own,  "  suppose  that  this  isn't  all.  Suppose  that  the 
girl  has  met  some  one  who  has  become  interested  in 
her,  and  whom  she  will  have  to  tell  of  this  stain  upon 
her  name  ? " 

"  Basil ! "  cried  my  wife,  "  that  is  cruel  of  you  ! 
You  knew  I  was  keeping  away  from  that  point,  and  it 
seems  as  if  you  tried  to  make  it  as  afflicting  as  you 
could — the  whole  affair." 

"  Well,  I  don't  believe  it's  as  bad  as  that.  Probably 
she  hasn't  met  any  one  in  that  way ;  at  any  rate,  it's 
pure  conjecture  on  my  part,  and  my  conjecture  doesn't 
make  it  so." 


A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER.  343 

"  It  doesn't  unmake  it,  either,  for  you  to  say  that 
now,"  my  wife  lamented. 

"  Well,  well !  Don't  let's  think  about  it,  then.  The 
case  is  bad  enough  as  it  stands,  Heaven  knows,  and 
we've  got  to  grapple  with  it  as  soon  as  we  get  home. 
We  shall  find  Tedham  waiting  for  us,  I  dare  say,  un 
less  something  has  happened  to  him.  I  wonder  if 
anything  can  have  been  good  enough  to  happen  to 
Tedham,  overnight." 

I  got  a  little  miserable  fun  out  of  this,  but  my  wife 
would  not  laugh;  she  would  not  be  placated  in  any 
way ;  she  held  me  in  a  sort  responsible  for  the  dilem 
ma  I  had  conjectured,  and  inculpated  me  in  some 
measure  for  that  which  had  really  presented  itself. 

When  we  reached  home  she  went  directly  to  her 
room  and  had  a  cup  of  tea  sent  to  her  there,  and  the 
children  and  I  had  rather  a  solemn  time  at  the  table 
together.  A  Sunday  tea-table  is  solemn  enough  at 
the  best,  with  its  ghastly  substitution  of  cold  dishes 
or  thin  sliced  things  for  the  warm  abundance  of  the 
week-day  dinner ;  with  the  gloom  of  Mrs.  March's  ab 
sence  added,  this  was  a  very  funereal  feast  indeed. 

We  went  on  quite  silently  for  a  while,  for  the  chil 
dren  saw  I  was  preoccupied;  but  at  last  I  asked, 
"  Has  anybody  called  this  afternoon  ? " 


544  A   CIRCLE   IN   THE    WATER. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly  whether  it  was  a  call  or  not," 
said  my  daughter,  with  a  nice  feeling  for  the  social 
proprieties  which  would  have  amused  me  at  another 
time.  "  But  that  strange  person  who  was  here  last 
night,  was  here  again." 

"  Oh  ! " 

"  He  said  he  would  come  in  the  evening.  I  forgot 
to  tell  you.  Papa,  what  kind  of  person  is  he  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.     What  makes  you  ask  ? " 

"  Why,  we  think  he  wasn't  always  a  workingman. 
Tom  says  he  looks  as  if  he  had  been  in  some  kind  of 
business,  and  then  failed." 

"  What  makes  you  think  that,  Tom  ? "  I  asked  the 
boy. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.     He  speaks  so  well." 

"  He  always  spoke  well,  poor  fellow,"  I  said  with  a 
vague  amusement.  "  And  you're  quite  right,  Tom. 
He  was  in  business  once  and  he  failed — badly." 

I  went  up  to  my  wife's  room  and  told  her  what  the 
children  had  said  of  Tedham's  call,  and  that  he  was 
coming  back  again. 

"  Well,  then,  I  think  I  shall  let  you  see  him  alone, 
Basil.  I'm  completely  worn  out,  and  besides  there's 
no  reason  why  I  should  see  him.  I  hope  you'll  get 
through  with  him  quickly.  There  isn't  really  any- 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  345 

thing  for  you  to  say,  except  that  we  have  seen  the 
Haskeths,  and  that  if  he  is  still  bent  upon  it  he  can 
find  his  daughter  there  to-morrow  evening.  I  want 
you  to  promise  me  that  you  will  confine  yourself  to 
that,  Basil,  and  not  say  a  single  word  more.  There  is 
no  sense  in  our  involving  ourselves  in  the  affair.  We 
have  done  all  we  could,  and  more  than  he  had  any 
right  to  ask  of  us,  and  now  I  am  determined  that  he 
shall  not  get  anything  more  out  of  you.  Will  you 
promise  ? " 

"  You  may  be  sure,  my  dear,  that  I  don't  wish  to 
get  any  more  involved  in  this  coil  of  sin  and  misery 
than  you  do,"  I  began. 

"  That  isn't  promising,"  she  interrupted.  "  I  want 
you  to  promise  you'll  say  just  that  and  no  more." 

"  Oh,  I'll  promise  fast  enough,  if  that's  all  you 
want,"  I  said. 

"  I  don't  trust  you  a  bit,  Basil,"  she  lamented. 
"  Now,  I  will  explain  to  you  all  about  it.  I've  thought 
the  whole  thing  over." 

She  did  explain,  at  much  greater  length  than  she 
needed,  and  she  was  still  giving  me  some  very  solemn 
charges  when  the  bell  rang,  and  I  knew  that  Tedham 
had  come.  "  Now,  remember  what  I've  told  you," 
she  called  after  me,  as  I  went  to  the  door,  "  and  be 


346  A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER, 

sure  to  tell  me,  when  you  come  back,  just  how  he  takes 
it  and  every  word  he  says.  Oh,  dear,  I  know  you'll 
make  the  most  dreadful  mess  of  it !  " 

By  this  time  I  expected  to  do  no  less,  but  I  was  so 
curious  to  see  Tedham  again  that  I  should  have  been 
willing  to  do  much  worse,  rather  than  forego  my  meet 
ing  with  him.  I  hope  that  there  was  some  better 
feeling  than  curiosity  in  my  heart,  but  I  will,  for  the 
present,  call  it  curiosity. 

I  met  him  in  the  hall  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and 
put  a  witless  cheeriness  into  the  voice  I  bade  him 
good-evening  with,  while  I  gave  him  my  hand  and  led 
the  way  into  the  parlor. 

The  twenty-four  hours  that  had  elapsed  since  I  saw 
him  there  before  had  estranged  him  in  a  way  that  I 
find  it  rather  hard  to  describe.  He  had  shrunk  from 
the  approach  to  equality  in  which  we  had  parted,  and 
there  was  a  sort  of  consciousness  of  disgrace  in  his 
look,  such  as  might  have  shown  itself  if  he  had  passed 
the  time  in  a  low  debauch.  But  undoubtedly  he  had 
done  nothing  of  the  kind,  and  this  effect  in  him  was 
from  a  purely  moral  cause.  He  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  a  chair,  instead  of  leaning  back,  as  he  had  done  the 
night  before. 

"  Well,  Tedham,"  I  began,  "  we  have  seen  your  sis- 


A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER.  347 

ter-in-law,  and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once  that,  so 
far  as  she  is  concerned,  there  will  be  nothing  in  the 
way  of  your  meeting  your  daughter.  The  Haskeths 
are  living  at  their  old  place  in  Somerville,  and  your 
daughter  will  be  with  them  there  to-morrow  night — 
just  at  this  moment  she  is  away — and  you  can  find 
her  there,  then,  if  you  wish." 

Tedham  kept  those  deep  eye-hollows  of  his  bent 
upon  me,  and  listened  with  a  passivity  which  did  not 
end  when  I  ceased  to  speak.  I  had  said  all  that  my 
wife  had  permitted  me  to  say  in  her  charge  to  me, 
and  the  incident  ought  to  have  been  closed,  as  far  as 
we  were  concerned.  But  Tedham's  not  speaking 
threw  me  off  my  guard.  I  could  not  let  the  matter 
end  so  bluntly,  and  I  added,  in  the  same  spirit  one 
makes  a  scrawl  at  the  bottom  of  a  page,  "  Of  course, 
it's  for  you  to  decide  whether  you  will  or  not." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Tedham,  feebly,  but 
as  if  he  were  physically  laying  hold  of  me  for  help. 

"  Why,  I  mean — I  mean — my  dear  fellow,  you 
know  what  I  mean  !  Whether  you  had  better  do  it." 
This  was  the  very  thing  I  had  not  intended  to  do,  for 
I  saw  how  wise  my  wife's  plan  was,  and  how  we  really 
had  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  matter,  after  having 
satisfied  the  utmost  demands  of  humanity. 


348  A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

"  You  think  I  had  better  not,"  said  Tedham. 

"  No,"  I  said,  but  I  felt  that  I  was  saying  it  too 
late,  "  I  don't  think  anything  about  it." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  about  it,  too,"  said  Tedham, 
as  if  I  had  confessed  and  not  denied  having  an  opin 
ion  in  the  matter.  "  I  have  been  thinking  about  it 
ever  since  I  saw  you  last  night,  and  I  don't  believe  I 
have  slept,  for  thinking  of  it.  I  know  how  you  and 
Mrs.  March  feel  about  it,  and  I  have  tried  to  see  it 
from  your  point  of  view,  and  now  I  believe  I  do.  I 
am  not  going  to  see  my  daughter;  I  am  going  away." 

He  stood  up,  in  token  of  his  purpose,  and  at  the 
same  moment  my  wife  entered  the  room.  She  must 
have  been  hurrying  to  do  so  from  the  moment  I  left 
her,  for  she  had  on  a  fresh  dress,  and  her  hair  had  the 
effect  of  being  suddenly,  if  very  effectively,  massed 
for  the  interview  from  the  dispersion  in  which  I  had 
lately  seen  it.  She  swept  me  with  a  glance  of  re 
proach,  as  she  went  up  to  Tedham,  in  the  pretence 
that  he  had  risen  to  meet  her,  and  gave  him  her  hand. 
I  knew  that  she  divined  all  that  had  passed  between 
us,  but  she  said : 

"  Mr.  March  has  told  you  that  we  have  seen  Mrs. 
Hasketh,  and  that  you  can  find  your  daughter  at  her 
house  to-morrow  evening  ? " 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  349 

"  Yes,  and  I  have  just  been  telling  him  that  I  am 
not  going  to  see  her." 

"  That  is  very  foolish — very  wrong ! "  my  wife 
began. 

"  I  know  you  must  say  so,"  Tedham  replied,  with 
more  dignity  and  force  than  I  could  have  expected, 
"and  I  know  how  kind  you  and  Mr.  March  have  been. 
But  you  must  see  that  I  am  right — that  she  is  the 
only  one  to  be  considered  at  all." 

"Right!  How  are  you  right?  Have  you  been 
suggesting  that,  my  dear  ? "  demanded  my  wife,  with 
a  gentle  despair  of  me  in  her  voice. 

It  almost  seemed  to  me  that  I  had,  but  Tedham 
came  to  my  rescue  most  unexpectedly. 

"  No,  Mrs.  March,  he  hasn't  said  anything  of  the 
kind  to  me ;  or,  if  he  has,  I  haven't  heard  it.  But 
you  intimated,  yourself,  last  night,  that  she  might  be 
so  situated — " 

"  I  was  a  wicked  simpleton,"  cried  my  wife,  and  I 
forebore  to  triumph,  even  by  a  glance  at  her;  "  to  put 
my  doubts  between  you  and  your  daughter  in  any 
way.  It  was  romantic,  and — and — disgusting.  It's 
not  only  your  right  to  see  her,  it's  your  duty.  At 
least  it's  your  duty  to  let  her  decide  whether  she  will 
let  you  see  her.  What  nonsense !  Of  course  she 

f   /? 


350  A    CIRCLE   IN    THE   WATER. 

will !  She  must  bear  her  part  in  it.  She  ought  not 
to  escape  it,  even  if  she  could.  Now  you  must  just 
drop  all  idea  of  going  away,  and  you  must  stay,  and 
you  must  go  to  see  your  daughter.  There  is  no  other 
way  to  do." 

Tedham  shook  his  head  stubbornly.  "  She  has 
borne  her  share,  already,  and  I  won't  inflict  my  pen 
alty  on  her  innocence — " 

"  Innocence  ?  It's  because  she  is  innocent  that  it 
must  be  inflicted  upon  her !  That  is  what  innocence 
is  in  the  world  for ! " 

Tedham  looked  back  at  her  in  a  dull  bewilderment. 
"  I  can't  get  back  to  that.  It  seemed  so  once ;  but 
now  it  looks  selfish,  and  I'm  afraid  of  it.  I  am  not 
the  one  to  take  that  ground.  It  might  do  for  you — " 

"  Well,  then,  let  it  do  for  me  !  "  I  confess  that  I 
was  astonished  at  this  turn,  or  should  have  been,  if  I 
could  be  astonished  at  any  turn  a  woman  takes.  "  I 
will  see  her  for  you,  if  you  wish,  and  I  will  tell  her 
just  how  it  is  with  you,  and  then  she  can  decide  for 
herself.  You  have  certainly  no  right  to  decide  for 
her,  whether  she  will  see  you  or  not,  have  you  ? " 

"  No,"  Tedham  admitted. 

"  Well,  then,  sit  down  and  listen." 

He  sat  down,  and  my  wife  reasoned  it  all  out  with 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  351 

him.  She  convinced  rne,  perfectly,  so  that  what  Ted- 
ham  proposed  to  do  seemed  not  only  sentimental  and 
foolish,  but  unnatural  and  impious.  I  confess  that  I 
admired  her  casuistry,  and  gave  it  my  full  support. 
She  was  a  woman  who,  in  the  small  affairs  of  the 
tastes  and  the  nerves  and  the  prejudices  could  be  as 
illogical  as  the  best  of  her  sex,  but  with  a  question 
large  enough  to  engage  the  hereditary  powers  of  her 
New  England  nature  she  showed  herself  a  dialectician 
worthy  of  her  Puritan  ancestry. 

Tedham  rose  when  she  had  made  an  end ;  and  when 
we  both  expected  him  to  agree  with  her  and  obey  her, 
he  said,  "  Very  likely  you  are  right.  I  once  saw  it  all 
that  way  myself,  but  I  don't  see  it  so  now,  and  I  can't 
do  it.  Perhaps  we  shouldn't  care  for  each  other;  at 
any  rate,  it's  too  much  to  risk,  and  I  can't  do  it. 
Good-by."  He  began  sidling  toward  the  door. 

I  would  have  detained  him,  but  my  wife  made  me 
a  sign  not  to  interfere.     "  But  surely,  Mr.  Tedham," 
she  pleaded,  "  you  are  going  to  leave  some  word  ft 
her — or  for  Mrs.  Ilasketh  to  give  her  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  don't  think  I  will.  If  I 
don't  appear,  then  she  won't  see  me,  and  that  will  be 
all  there  is  of  it." 

"  Yes,  but  Mrs.  Hasketh  will  probably  tell  her  that 


352  A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER. 

you  have  asked  about  her,  and  will  prepare  her  for 
your  coming,  and  then  if  you  don't  come — " 

"  What  time  is  it,  March  ?  "  Tedham  asked. 

I  took  out  my  watch.  "  It's  nine  o'clock."  I  was 
surprised  to  find  it  no  later. 

"  I  can  get  over  to  Somerville  before  ten,  can't  I  ? 
I'll  go  and  tell  Mrs.  llasketh  I  am  not  coming." 

We  could  not  prevent  his  getting  away,  by  force, 
and  we  had  used  all  the  arguments  we  could  have 
hoped  to  detain  him  with.  As  he  opened  the  door 
to  go  out  into  the  night,  "  But,  Tedham  !  "  I  called  to 
him,  "  if  anything  happens,  where  are  we  to  find  you, 
hear  of. you? " 

He  hesitated.  "  I  will  let  you  know.  Well,  good 
night." 

"  I  suppose  this  isn't  the  end,  Isabel,"  I  said,  after 
we  had  turned  from  looking  blankly  at  the  closed 
door,  and  listening  to  Tedham's  steps,  fainter  and 
fainter  on  the  board-walk  to  the  gate. 

"  There  never  is  an  end  to  a  thing  like  this ! "  she 
returned,  with  a  passionate  sigh  of  pity.  "  Oh,  what 
a  terrible  thing  an  evil  deed  is !  It  can't  end.  It  has 
to  go  on  and  on  forever.  Poor  wretch !  He  thought 
he  had  got  to  the  end  of  his  misdeed,  when  he  had 
suffered  the  punishment  for  it,  but  it  was  only  just 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  353 

beginning  then !  Now,  you  see,  it  Las  a  perfectly 
new  lease  of  life.  It's  as  if  it  had  just  happened,  as 
far  as  the  worst  consequences  are  concerned." 

"  Yes,"  I  assented.  "  By  the  way,  that  was  a  great 
idea  of  yours  about  the  office  of  innocence  in  the 
world,  Isabel !  " 

"  Why,  Basil !  "  she  cried,  "  you  don't  suppose  I 
believed  in  such  a  monstrous  thing  as  that,  do  you  ? " 

"  You  made  me  believe  in  it." 

"  Well,  then,  I  can  tell  you  that  I  merely  said  it  so 
as  to  convince  him  that  he  ought  to  let  his  daughter 
decide  whether  she  would  see  him  or  not,  and  it  had 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  matter.  Do  you 
think  you  could  find  me  anything  to  eat,  dear  ?  I'm 
perfectly  famishing,  and  it  doesn't  seem  as  if  I  could 
stir  a  step  till  I've  had  a  bite  of  something." 

She  sank  down  on  the  sofa  in  the  hall  in  proof  of 
her  statement,  and  I  went  out  into  the  culinary  re 
gions  (deserted  of  their  dwellers  after  our  early  tea) 
and  made  her  up  a  sandwich  along  with  the  one  I  had 
the  Sunday-night  habit  of  myself.  I  found  some 
half-bottles  of  ale  on  the  ice,  and  I  brought  one  of 
them,  too.  Before  we  had  emptied  it  we  resigned 
ourselves  to  what  we  could  not  help  in  Tedham's  case ; 

perhaps  we  even  saw  it  in  a  more  hopeful  light. 
Z 


VII. 


THE  next  day  was  one  of  those  lax  Mondays  which 
come  before  the  Tuesdays  and  Wednesdays  when  bus 
iness  has  girded  itself  up  for  the  week,  and  I  got 
home  from  the  office  rather  earlier  than  usual.  My 
wife  met  me  with,  "  Why,  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  I  said;  "  I  had  a  sort  of  presentiment 
that  something  had  happened  here." 

"  Well,  nothing  at  all  has  happened,  and  you  have 
had  your  presentiment  for  your  pains,  if  that's  what 
you  hurried  home  for." 

I  justified  myself  as  well  as  I  could,  and  I  added, 
"  That  wretched  Tedham  has  been  in  my  mind  all  day. 
I  think  he  has  made  a  ridiculous  mistake.  As  if  he 
could  stop  the  harm  by  taking  himself  off !  The  harm 
goes  on  independently  of  him ;  it  is  hardly  his  harm 
any  more." 

'•That  is  the  way  it  has  seemed  to  me,  too,  all 
day,"  said  my  wife.  "  You  don't  suppose  he  has 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  355 

been  out  of  my  mind  either  ?     I  wish  we  had  never 
had  anything  to  do  with  him." 

A  husband  likes  to  abuse  his  victory,  when  he  has 
his  wife  quite  at  his  mercy,  but  the  case  was  so  en 
tirely  in  my  favor  that  for  once  I  forbore.  I  could 
see  that  she  was  suffering  for  having  put  into  Ted- 
ham's  head  the  notion  which  had  resulted  in  this  er 
ror,  and  I  considered  that  she  was  probably  suffering 
enough.  Besides,  I  was  afraid  that  if  I  said  anything 
it  would  bring  out  the  fact  that  I  had  myself  intimated 
the  question  again  which  his  course  had  answered  so 
mistakenly.  I  could  well  imagine  that  she  was  grate 
ful  for  my  forbearance,  and  I  left  her  to  this  admir 
able  state  of  mind  while  I  went  off  to  put  myself  a 
little  in  shape  after  my  day's  work  and  my  journey  out 
of  town.  /  I  kept  thinking  how  perfectly  right  in  the 
affair  Tedham's  simple,  selfish  instinct  had  been,  and 
how  our  several  consciences  had  darkened  counsel; 
that  quaint  Tuscan  proverb  came  into  my  mind :  Las- 
da  fare  Iddio,  cW  k  un  buon  vecchio.  We  had  not 
been  willing  to  let  God  alone,  or  to  trust  his  leading ; 
we  had  thought  to  improve  on  his  management  of  the 
case,  and  to  invent  a  principle  for  poor  Tedham  that 
should  be  better  for  him  to  act  upon  than  the  love  of 
his  child,  which  God  had  put  into  the  man's  heart, 


356  A    CIRCLE    IN   THE    WATER. 

and  which  was  probably  the  best  thing  that  had  ever 
been  there?]  Well,  we  had  got  our  come-uppings,  as 
the  country  people  say,  and  however  we  might  reason 
it  away  we  had  made  ourselves  responsible  for  the 
event. 

There  came  a  ring  at  the  door  that  made  my  own 
heart  jump  into  my  mouth.  I  knew  it  was  Tedham 
come  back  again,  and  I  was  still  in  the  throes  of  but 
toning  on  my  collar  when  my  wife  burst  into  my  room. 
I  smiled  round  at  her  as  gayly  as  I  could  with  the 
collar-buttoning  grimace  on  my  face.  "  All  right,  I'll 
be  down  in  a  minute.  You  just  go  and  talk  to  him 
till—" 

"  Him  ?  "  she  gasped  back ;  and  I  have  never  been 
quite  sure  of  her  syntax  to  this  day.  "  Them  !  It's 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hasketh,  and  some  young  lady !  I  saw 
them  through  the  window  coming  up  the  walk." 

"  Good  Lord !  You  don't  suppose  it's  Tedham's 
daughter?" 

"  How  do  I  know  1  Oh,  how  could  you  be  dressing 
at  a  time  like  this  !  " 

It  did  seem  to  me  rather  heinous,  and  I  did  not 
try  to  defend  myself,  even  when  she  added,  from  her 
access  of  nervousness,  in  something  like  a  whimper, 
"  It  seems  to  me  you're  always  dressing,  Basil ! " 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  357 

"  I'll  be  right  with  you,  my  dear,"  I  answered,  pen 
itently  ;  and,  in  fact,  by  the  time  the  maid  brought  up 
the  Haskeths'  cards  I  was  ready  to  go  down.  We 
certainly  needed  each  other's  support,  and  I  do  not 
know  but  we  descended  the  stairs  hand  in  hand,  and 
entered  the  parlor  leaning  upon  each  other's  shoulders. 
The  Haskeths,  who  were  much  more  deeply  concerned, 
were  not  apparently  so  much  moved.  We  shook  hands 
with  them,  and  then  Mrs.  Hasketh  said  to  us  in  suc 
cession,  "  My  niece,  Mrs.  March ;  Mr.  March,  my 


niece." 


The  young  girl  had  risen,  and  stood  veiled  before 
us,  and  a  sort  of  heart-breaking  appeal  expressed  it 
self  in  the  gentle  droop  of  her  figure,  which  did  the 
whole  office  of  her  hidden  face.  The  Haskeths  were 
dressed,  as  became  their  years,  in  a  composite  fashion 
of  no  particular  period ;  but  I  noticed  at  once,  with 
the  fondness  I  have  for  what  is  pretty  in  the  modes, 
that  Miss  Tedham  wore  one  of  the  latest  costumes, 
and  that  she  was  not  only  a  young  girl,  but  a  young- 
lady,  with  all  that  belongs  to  the  outward  seeming  of 
one  of  the  gentlest  of  the  kind.  It  struck  me  as  the 
more  monstrous,  therefore,  that  she  should  be  involved 
in  the  coil  of  her  father's  inexpiable  offence,  which 
entangled  her  whether  he  stayed  or  whether  he  went. 


358  A    CIRCLE   IN   THE    WATER. 

It  was  well  enough  that  the  Haskeths  should  still  be 
made  miserable  through  him;  it  belonged  to  their 
years  and  experience ;  they  would  soon  end,  at  any 
rate,  and  it  did  not  matter  whether  their  remnant  of 
life  was  dark  or  bright.  But  this  child  had  a  right  to 
a  long  stretch  of  unbroken  sunshine.  As  I  stood  and 
looked  at  her  I  felt  the  heart-burning,  the  indefinable 
indignation  that  we  feel  in  the  presence  of  death  when 
it  is  the  young  and  fair  who  have  died.  Here  is  a 
miscalculation,  a  mistake.  It  ought  not  to  have  been. 

I  thought  that  my  wife,  in  the  effusion  of  sympathy, 
would  have  perhaps  taken  the  girl  in  her  arms ;  but 
probably  she  knew  that  the  dropped  veil  was  a  sign 
that  there  was  to  be  no  embracing.  She  put  out  her 
hand,  and  the  girl  took  it  with  her  gloved  hand ;  but 
though  the  outward  forms  of  their  greeting  were  so 
cold,  I  fancied  an  instant  understanding  and  kindness 
between  them. 

"  My  niece,"  Mrs.  Hasketh  explained,  when  we  were 
all  seated,  "  came  home  this  afternoon,  instead  of  this 
morning,  when  we  expected  her." 

My  wife  said,  "  Oh,  yes,"  and  after  a  moment,  a 
very  painful  moment,  in  which  I  think  we  all  tried 
to  imagine  something  that  would  delay  the  real  busi 
ness,  Mrs.  Hasketh  began  again. 


A    CIRCLE   IN   THE    WATER.  359 

"  Mrs.  March,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  a 
curious,  apologetic  kind  of  embarassment,  "  we  have 
come — Fay  wanted  we  should  come  and  ask  if  you 
knew  about  her  father — " 

"  Why,  didn't  he  come  to  you  last  night  ? "  my  wife 
began. 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  said  Mrs.  Hasketh,  in  a  crest-fallen 
sort.  "But  we  thought — we  thought — you  might 
know  where  he  was.  And  Fay —  Did  he  tell  you 
what  he  was  going  to  do  ? " 

"  Yes,"  my  wife  gasped  back. 

The  young  girl  put  aside  her  veil  in  turning  to  my 
wife,  and  showed  a  face  which  had  all  the  ill-starred 
beauty  of  poor  Tedham,  with  something  more  in  it 
that  she  never  got  from  that  handsome  reprobate — 
conscience,  soul — whatever  we  choose  to  call  a  certain 
effluence  of  heaven  which  blesses  us  with  rest  and  faith 
whenever  we  behold  it  in  any  human  countenance. 
She  was  very  young-looking,  and  her  voice  had  a  wist 
ful  innocence. 

"  Do  you  think  my  father  will  be  here  again  to 
night  ?  Oh,  I  must  see  him  !  " 

I  perceived  that  my  wife  could  not  speak,  and  I 
said,  to  gain  time,  "  Why,  I've  been  expecting  him  to 
come  in  at  any  moment ;"  and  this  was  true  enough. 


360  A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

"  I  guess  he's  not  very  far  off,"  said  old  Hasketh. 
"I  don't  believe  but  what  he'll  turn  up."  Within 
the  comfort  these  words  were  outwardly  intended  to 
convey  to  the  anxious  child,  I  felt  an  inner  contempt 
of  Tedham,  a  tacit  doubt  of  the  man's  nature,  which 
was  more  to  me  than  the  explicit  faith  in  his  return. 
For  some  reason  Hasketh  had  not  trusted  Tedham's 
decision,  and  he  might  very  well  have  done  this  with 
out  impugning  anything  but  the  weakness  of  his  will. 

My  wife  now  joined  our  side,  apparently  because  it 
was  the  only  theory  of  the  case  that  could  be  openly 
urged.  "  Oh,  yes,  I  am  sure.  In  fact  he  promised 
my  husband  to  let  him  know  later  where  he  was. 
Didn't  you  understand  him  so,  my  dear  ?  " 

I  had  not  Understood  him  precisely  to  this  effect, 
but  I  answered,  "  Yes,  certainly,"  and  we  began  to 
reassure  one  another  more  and  more.  We  talked  on 
and  on  to  one  another,  but  all  the  time  we  talked  at 
the  young  girl,  or  for  her  encouragement ;  but  I  sup 
pose  the  rest  felt  as  I  did,  that  we  were  talking  pro 
visionally,  or  without  any  stable  ground  of  conviction. 
For  my  part,  though  I  indulged  that  contempt  of 
Tedham,  I  still  had  a  lurking  fear  that  the  wretch  had 
finally  and  forever  disappeared,  and  I  had  a  vision, 
very  disagreeable  and  definite,  of  Tedham  lying  face 


A    CIRCLE    IN   THE    WATER.  361 

downward  in  the  pool  of  the  old  cockpit  and  shone  on 
by  the  stars  in  the  hushed  circle  of  the  woods.  Si 
multaneously  I  heard  his  daughter  saying,  "I  can't 
understand  why  he  shouldn't  have  come  to  us,  or 
should  have  put  it  off.  lie  couldn't  think  I  didn't 
wish  to  see  him."  And  now  I  looked  at  my  wife 
aghast,  for  I  perceived  that  the  Haskeths  must  have 
lacked  the  courage  to  tell  her  that  her  father  had  de 
cided  himself  not  to  see  her  again,  and  that  they  had 
brought  her  to  us  that  we  might  stay  her  with  some 
hopes,  false  or  true,  of  meeting  him  soon.  "  I  don't 
know  what  they  mean,"  she  went  on,  appealing  from 
them  to  us,  "  by  saying  that  it  might  be  better  if  I 
never  saw  him  again  !  " 

"  I  don't  say  that  any  more,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Has- 
keth,  with  affecting  humility.  "I'm  sure  there  isn't 
any  one  in  the  whole  world  that  I  would  bless  the 
sight  of  half  as  much." 

"  I  could  have  come  before,  if  I'd  known  where  he 
was ;  or,  if  I  had  only  known,  I  might  have  been  here 
Saturday  ! "  She  broke  into  a  piteous  lamentation, 
with  tears  and  sobs  that  wrung  my  heart  and  made  me 
feel  like  one  of  a  conspiracy  of  monsters.  "  But  he 
couldn't — he  couldn't — have  thought  I  didn't  want  to 
see  him !  " 


362  A    CIRCLE    IN   THE    WATER. 

It  was  a  very  trying  moment  for  us  all,  and  I  think 
that  if  we  had,  any  of  us,  had  our  choice,  we  should 
have  preferred  to  be  in  her  place  rather  than  our  own. 
We  miserably  did  what  we  could  to  comfort  her,  and 
we  at  last  silenced  her  with  I  do  not  know  what  pre 
tences.  The  affair  was  quite  too  much  for  me,  and  I 
made  a  feint  of  having  heard  the  children  calling  me, 
and  I  went  out  into  the  hall.  I  felt  that  there  was  a 
sort  of  indecency  in  my  witnessing  that  poor  young 
thing's  emotion ;  women  might  see  it,  but  a  man  ought 
not.  Perhaps  old  Hasketh  felt  the  same ;  he  followed 
me  out,  and  when  we  were  beyond  hearing,  even  if  he 
had  spoken  aloud,  he  dropped  his  voice  to  a  thick 
murmur  and  said,  "  This  has  all  been  a  mistake.  We 
have  had  to  get  out  of  it  with  the  girl  the  best  we 
could ;  and  we  don't  dare  to  let  her  know  that  Ted- 
ham  isn't  coming  back  any  more.  You  noticed  from 
what  she  said  that  my  wife  tried  to  make  believe  it 
might  be  well  if  he  didn't;  but  she  had  to  drop  that ; 
it  set  the  girl  wild.  She  hasn't  got  anything  but  the 
one  idea :  that  she  and  her  father  belong  to  each  other, 
and  that  they  must  be  together  for  the  rest  of  their 
lives.  A  curious  thing  about  it  is,"  and  Hasketh  sank 
his  voice  still  lower  to  say  this,  "  that  she  thinks  that 
if  he's  taken  the  punishment  that  was  put  upon  him 


A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER.  363 

he  has  atoned  for  what  he  did ;  and  if  any  one  tries  to 
make  him  suffer  more  he  does  worse  than  Tedham  did, 
and  he's  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence.  Perhaps 
it's  so.  I'm  afraid,"  Hasketh  continued,  with  the  sat 
isfaction  men  take  in  blaming  their  wives  under  the 
cover  of  sympathy,  "  that  Mrs.  Hasketh  is  going  to 
feel  it  more  and  more,  as  time  goes  on,  unless  Tedham 
turns  up.  I  was  never  in  favor  of  trying  to  have  the 
child  forget  him,  or  be  separated  from  him  in  any 
way.  That  kind  of  thing  can't  be  made  to  work,  and 
I  don't  suppose,  when  you  come  to  boil  it  down,  that 
it's  essentially  right.  This  universe,  I  take  it,  isn't  an 
accident  in  any  particular,  and  if  she's  his  daughter 
it's  because  she  was  meant  to  be,  and  to  bear  and  share 
with  him.  You  see  it  was  a  great  mistake  not  to  pre 
pare  the  child  for  it  sooner,  and  tell  her  just  when 
Tedham  would  be  out,  so  that  if  she  wanted  to  see 
him  she  could.  She  thinks  she  ought  to  have  been 
there  at  the  prison  waiting  to  speak  to  him  the  first 
one.  I  thought  it  was  a  mistake  to  have  her  away,  and 
I  guess  that's  the  way  Mrs.  Hasketh  looks  at  it  her 
self,  now." 

A  stir  of  garments  made  itself  heard  from  the  par 
lor  at  last,  and  we  knew  the  ladies  had  risen.  In  a 
loud  voice  Hasketh  began  to  say  that  they  had  a  car- 


364  A    CIRCLE    IN    THE    WATER. 

riage  down  at  the  gate,  and  I  said  they  had  better  let 
me  show  them  the  way  down ;  and  as  my  wife  followed 
the  others  into  the  hall,  I  pulled  open  the  outer  door 
for  them.  On  the  threshold  stood  a  man  about  to 
ring,  who  let  his  hand  drop  from  the  bell-pull.  "  Why, 
Tedham  ! "  I  shouted,  joyfully. 

The  light  from  the  hall-lamp  struck  full  on  his  face ; 
we  all  involuntarily  shrank  back,  except  the  girl,  who 
looked,  not  at  the  man  before  her,  but  first  at  her  aunt 
and  then  at  her  uncle,  timorously,  and  murmured  some 
inaudible  question.  They  did  not  answer,  and  now 
Tedham  and  his  daughter  looked  at  each  other,  with 
what  feeling  no  one  can  ever  fully  say. 


VIII. 

[Ix  always  seemed  to  me  as  if  we  had  witnessed 
something  like  the  return  of  one  from  the  dead,  in  this 
meeting.  We  were  talking  it  over  one  evening  some 
weeks  later,  and  "  It  would  be  all  very  well,"  I  philos 
ophized,  "if  the  dead  came  back  at  once,  but  if  one 
came  back  after  ten  years,  it  would  be  difficult."  ( 

"  It  was  worse  than  coming  back  from  the  dead," 
said  my  wife.  "  But  I  hope  that  is  the  end  of  it  so 
far  as  we  are  concerned.  I  am  sure  I  am  glad  to  be 
out  of  it,  and  I  don't  wish  to  see  any  of  them  ever 
again." 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  I  returned,  and  I 
began  to  laugh.  "  You  know  Hubbell,  our  inspector 
of  agencies?" 

"  What  has  he  got  to  do  with  it  ? " 

"  Hubbell  has  had  a  romantic  moment.  He  thinks 
that  in  view  of  the  restitution  Tedham  made  as  far  as 
he  could,  and  his  excellent  record — elsewhere — it 


366  A  CIRCLE  IN  THE  WATER. 

would  be  a  fine  thing  for  the  Reciprocity  to  employ 
him  again  in  our  office,  and  he  wanted  to  suggest  it  to 
the  actuary." 

"  Basil !  You  didn't  allow  him  to  do  such  a  cruel 
thing  as  that  ? " 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  am  happy  to  say  that  I  sat  upon 
that  dramatic  climax." 

This  measurably  consoled  my  wife,  but  she  did  not 
cease  to  denounce  the  idea  for  some  moments.  When 
she  ended,  I  asked  her  if  she  would  allow  the  com 
pany  to  employ  Tedham  in  a  subordinate  place  in  an 
other  city,  and  when  she  signified  that  this  might  be 
suffered,  I  said  that  this  was  what  would  probably  be 
done.  Then  I  added,  seriously,  that  I  thoroughly 
liked  the  notion  of  it,  and  that  I  took  it  for  a  testi 
mony  that  poor  old  Tedham  was  right,  and  that  he 
had  at  last  fully  expiated  his  offence  against  society. 

His  daughter  continued  to  live  with  her  aunt  and 
uncle,  but  Tedham  used  to  spend  his  holidays  with 
them,  and,  however  incongruously,  they  got  on  to 
gether  very  well,  I  believe.  The  girl  kept  the  name 
of  Hasketh,  and  I  do  not  suppose  that  many  people 
knew  her  relation  to  Tedham.  It  appeared  that  our 
little  romantic  supposition  of  a  love  affair,  which  the 
reunion  of  father  and  child  must  shatter,  was  for  the 


A   CIRCLE   IN   THE   WATER.  367 

present  quite  gratuitous.  But  if  it  should  ever  come 
to  that,  my  wife  and  I  had  made  up  our  minds  to  let 
God  manage.  We  said  that  we  had  already  had  one 
narrow  escape  in  proposing  to  better  the  divine  way 
of  doing,  and  we  should  not  interfere  again.  Still  I 
cannot  truly  say  that  we  gave  Providence  our  entire 
confidence  as  long  as  there  remained  the  chance  of 
further  evil  through  the  sort  of  romance  we  had 
dreaded  for  the  girl.  Till  she  was  married  there  was 
an  incompleteness,  a  potentiality  of  trouble,  in  the  in 
cident  apparently  closed  that  haunted  us  with  a  dis 
trustful  anxiety.  We  had  to  wait  several  years  for 
the  end,  but  it  came  eventually,  and  she  was  married 
to  a  young  Englishman  whom  she  had  met  in  Canada, 
and  whom  she  told  all  about  her  unhappy  family 
history  before  she  permitted  herself  to  accept  him. 

During  the  one  brief  interview  I  had  with  him,  for 
the  purpose  of  further  blackening  her  father's  charac 
ter  (for  so  I  understood  her  insistence  that  I  should 
see  the  young  man),  he  seemed  not  only  wholly  un 
moved  by  the  facts,  but  was  apparently  sorry  that 
poor  Tedham  had  not  done  much  worse  things,  and 
many  more  of  them,  that  he  might  forgive  him  for 
her  sake. 

They  went  to  live  abroad  after  they  were  married ; 


368  A    CIRCLE   IN    THE    WATER. 


and  by  and  by  Tedham  joined  them.  S°  far  now  as 
human  vision  can  perceive,  the  trouble  he  made,  the 
evil  he  did,  is  really  at  an  end.  Love,  which  can  alone 
arrest  the  consequences  of  wrong,  had  ended  it,  and  in 
certain  luminous  moments  it  seemed  to  us  that  we  had 
glimpsed,  in  our  witness  of  this  experience,  an  infinite 
compassion  encompassing  our  whole  being  like  a  sea, 
where  every  trouble  of  our  sins  and  sorrows  must 

—  . 

cease  at  last  like  a  circle  in  the  water., 


THE    END. 


14  DAY  T  TQ17 

RBTURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WI^CH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

WNEWAIS  ONLY-Tfl.  NO. 


(N5382slO)476-A-32 


.  General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


A.  pair  o 


DEC  16  ISS'J 


39381 

patient  lov 


rs 


955 

H859 


393810 


. 


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